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The people

who watched us

with laughing eyes

are dying.



Sometimes, life

holds nothing

up to standards.



Regla,

little saint

hovering over

whispering

high up above.



Now its over

Lying

on a porch.

Soul,

Living it up

disconnected,

clothes drop

like an spacious room.



We breathe,

hard,

on one view

side of the street--



one drained



as a soul

with the blues

lonely nights,

falling into the obvious,



heart broke

in my mind

no direction.



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The following comments are for "11.38"
by Bran

11.38
Another good one. Keep it up

( Posted by: wanda [Member] On: August 14, 2006 )





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