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I donít believe the whispered purple of the day
The shrieking mouth of uncouth sunlight: a stifled light-year away
And if I live coloured-in green letters through constraints of lines
I wonít be found by scowling wrists of time.
If I am still and construct the essence of a dreamland here
The pseudonym of reality will cease to interfere.
NaPoWriMo number two
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April 19, 2006
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