My days are never made.
Moments are discrete,
I can be ecstatic or distraught in any given pair of them
Independent of occurrences.
You never made my day.
(Don't Call it a) Poetry Blog
Snaps
Femmes
Questions
Sounds
Detritus
Too many sounds,
Too fickle to hear.
Raging against human homogony.
My intention is to clone,
reap myself from what I've sown.
Snaps
Femmes
Questions
Sounds
Detritus
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