Monday, April 13, 2009

my mind's combine is in constant stuck, always harvesting over the already harvested plot.


in my bed...there is no solitude, no comfort, or no friend.
my mind keeps me up as a prowler
who is just trying to break-in.
he's out there standing in the yard,
he stares at me through the window,
he steams the pane up with rancid breath,
smashing glass with closed fist.

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