Seven
By monkeysuitman
Wed, 27 Jan 2010
- 440 reads
The hi-fi is turned off
And the pillow flat
Rare loneliness seeps
Through unlikely sources
Whilst July flames
And carbon glaciers
Ripple my veins
Phone-light bursting
Poetry into life
Whilst sleeplessness
Scrawls words onto unseen lines
A comfort, warming
A colony, swarming
An escapade short of
A chilling warning
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