it’s so cold
this morn it makes my
pen not write so I
had to use my blood to
scribe this poem. I have
done this before – we all do for each
word, each phrase, each
thought our flesh & soul it makes
some call us bold, some
gawk in dismay, and still others who
simply stare & say:
“You’re bleeding.”
ryn.01.17.04
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