i can see the coldness within my soul,
i get the feeling that im watching it fall,
clinging tight like laundry pins,
but spinning faster than the pottery spins,

im never there really,
always pushing back the real me's,
who i trap like bumble bees,

in a jar,

call it a green house affect,
nothing ever goes out,
yet it pounds on these walls of thick glass,

screaming to the heavens,
seawaves to the land,
nothing on the sand,

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allets's picture


I haven't thought of those in years, lke mangles, and cast iron irons, hotcombs, and bobby pins. Transister radios, poodle skirts, alpaca sweaters. Thx 4 the m'ries ~allets~