Sunday, April 10, 2011

NaPoWriMo, April 6, 2011


In, we found ourselves
a pointless trance, the object of our pollinated
travels. A head in a lap in a
head in a lap. Someone said
busting through.

Someone said when is when you start to change.
We chartered through plans thirsty and twisted.
This could have been somebody, these were
effervescent occasions. Alit on oracular wings
confession made up our pithy matrix.
Usually parties ended like that,
but we never reflected.

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