March croons again and again But I would rather greet the sun Or play with the wind blown dirt March whispers again and again "Another number is here" Does she know I can barely get two and four to agree? March... Continue Reading →
They cry "beautiful, beautiful” And I cringe Grateful for myopia As I tighten my turban Who dare calls a thing so imperfect Beautiful?
I am not the predictable clouds Or the punctual sunrise
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