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June 2012

My Muse

My muse has moved into a nursing home The door that leads outside is locked There is a magic code   Four digits that my muse no longer knows Written near the doorjamb, this: The password is the year in which we’re living   The present will never be her later Before she won’t recall [...]

You are no sonnet

Marion Bloem

Some hide their sorrow cutting stripes in sour shoulders Some store problems in drawers pushing all what hurts with trash in cans while others avoid looking at anything reminding them of stinging smart   Several drink their dark past away in huge high glasses on the rocks to be knocked asleep whining. There are the ones chatting, chuckling and we’ll never catch the darkness behind their shiny [...]

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