Monday, February 01, 2010

12:40 Prompts

DEADLINE 2:05 PM



How old men walk, I hate it so
GRENADE
I am trying to remember, trying to believe it
HAND-WRITTEN
He asked them, "Play the Birdie Song"
A glass door flashing

A Sad House
A Tea-Room Garden, a single bee
DECLINED
He wakes crying
I believe I could believe
I have something not to say

I wanted to love once more so I could die
If, dear
In The Court of the Red Queen
It will be something to talk about at least
It would be nice to have the time
It's like a wound that opens and then opens

It's square, but more round than that
JACK!
Let us compare our lives, our separate sadness
Let's face it. Or not
Locked in
Long, slow railway stations, the darknesses

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