Saturday, December 19, 2015


the ya wn my f
lapping sleeve's re
pressed an aging k
nife re ceeds in
to it's out of sigh
t a frog c
rushed inside a so
pping leg wind de
parts' the robe
it was ,high shine
rippled cross the lake
your thighless dog b
arks in

Can you read the words
I have not written?
- Olchar E. Lindsann


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