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Feb 2017
The terror in the wind was returned

the terror of a faded chanson
my nose is bleeding again

  The banished outlaw that lasts
   through February surviving off therapeutic liquid (from the river)
    desperation settles in my head
  preparing his rounds carefully
  how many times
       the cycle continues
               how many times
                     the ranger wonders
A tower of roses lay dormant
in exile, unmapped,
waiting, and my heart persists to see it in person instead of this textureless carving of memory

  like a poem on an olive wall who
  seeks an understanding with the
        its narrow, black eye
gazed at silken eternal and
        the Sun
        & romantic language
              O to be grateful for the Moonlight
                kissing me at dusk
                (The wall dreams)
               now focused on the living room clock. expanding
                the Winter coming to its end
Written by
Connor  23/M/MSH
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