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B  Feb 2013
Curls
B Feb 2013
They are a herd of wild horses
Trampling across my forehead in a dance
Surrendering themselves to the unknown
In blazes with the touch of a sun ray
Recoiling into quiet
And bursting into frenzy
Tangled like my cluttered mind
Falling out in a discouraged rhtyhm
Tied into a contained presence
But always escaping in the fluttering winds

— The End —