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Twang, whizzzzzzzzzzzz.- - - - >------->

Updated on March 4, 2010


Twang, whizzzzzzzzzzzz.- - - - >------->

Arrows whiz by me

striking the hearts

of lovers swooned,
I in my armor coated,

plating of indifference
deflect their advances

with my teflon dreams,

No longer will I wear

Arrow shirts, nor gaze
lovingly at girls with

bows in their hair,

Scars abound in the

depths of my wounded soul,
some of them cut so deeply,

that the pain still lingers,
so much so, that I am like

an Easter Island stone head,
staring out at the beauty

of love around me, unmoved,
a romantic relic left to guard

his vast and lonely space.










A trilogy in yellow

In the wee hours of mourn
as your precious scent lingers in,
silk sheets over me,
sleep's a darting
butterfly I cannot catch.

The bright yellow canary,
freshly escaped from his caged perch,
sings a joyous song,
in the ash tree,
a buttered speck on gray limbs.

Daisies bending in the rain
petals flapping in the brisk winds,
suddenly break free,
of yellow heart,
"She loves me not, she loves me."









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