and I would like to look like a tree with a lot of words instead of leaves. I haven't been very sucessful yet but every metamorphosis takes some time.
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* * *
I remember days
when angels were blue and white
a pristine morning street
was a welcoming runway for their flight
it suited the span of their wings
In its little tinkling silence
they looked heavenly and right
They don't walk below my windows anymore
I see them sometimes
in a stranger's gesture, shade of a lamp
smaller
unattended luggage in the waiting room
I never thought it would be so hard
to tell them from devils
I see them sometimes
when a devil squints his eyes
0 Comments:
Friday, July 12, 2002
10:21 AM
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