A sprig or mint by the wayward brook;
A nibble of birch in the wood;
A summer day and love and a book,
And I wouldn't be king if I could.
John Vance Cheney
~
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The black twisted crowbar of my self is
wedged in a chink on the lock of my heart
and every night, I wench that bar
till my hands are raw and I can't recognize my own face.
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