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Sep 2012
The tasteless, faceless wind

at morning,

brushes away my waking

mourning of dreams still


getting settled behind

the place inside of me

I keep open for

the changing road of life

has no value when it's cast out

to a sea of precieved desire

bold and usurping

the unconscious impulse

to speak a word, picture a place

when it all comes

again wait until the nightfall blankets

you can't fly with your shoes

on the ground

is a safe home

for the nameless breeze is to

bring it again.

Nik Krutilla
Written by
Nik Krutilla
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