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May 2013
The smoke curls
      but not as ringlets
        as a mountain stream
            searching for it's lover;
                                     the river
         it dispels and dissipates
   without warning
or clapping of hands
  no incantation
     evenly and solemnly it flows
                         always away
as a dream upon waking
3:47am. God, let me sleep.

Subjectivity peaks
as we do
anger, love and sorrow
a loss of objectiveness
Luc L'arbre
Written by
Luc L'arbre
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