When I read Blake,
I begin to quake;
my mind as frail
as a skink's tail;
for in that grain
of sand I see,
not the beginning,
but the end of me.
- mce
Monday, June 7, 2010
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Merely a holding cell for journal entries, wry observations, attempted witticisms, poems and random aphorisms. Sense of humor required. This is poetry, NOT biography. Please do not call 911, stage an intervention or suggest AA. Everyone deserves their own death, allow me mine. Tentative conclusions encouraged. Advice ignored. Absolute truths not welcome. Enlightenment unlikely. Play on.
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