chirps, moans, whistles

I open my mouth and a sound comes out

Sunday, August 31, 2008

never say I can't make things rhyme

for the houseplant, a life
with never a breeze
never an insect to land on its leaves
dead air between the couch and chair,
his moods and her despair

lifts leaves each night though not in prayer
Posted by castlewon at 9:46 PM

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castlewon
Oakland resident in a time-warp
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