(January 27, 2011...

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Somewhere- along curled yellow roses...

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Breathing...

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I'll...

Does he know I lay on piles of thorns
from roses I've held too close...

I don't know how my actions
become moderated by my wishes...

Ebony voices sculpted my hands
until I was clutching cold metal...

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Closed light...

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Driven...

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How does one measure the distance to moon's...

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I am held...

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His dream became his death sentence...