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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

my poetry room

my poetry room
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

The lamp is from Goodwill, even the corkboard was someone else's before it was mine. New chalkboard, though. Feels like I'll always have one, somewhere. Write, erase, write again. Editing, is the polite way to correct mistakes.

I watch Buckley play sometimes. I don't know why he lies upside down to chew on something. He spreads his legs out behind him, sometimes too. Marble is like a rock. Not as fluid-like, as Buckley. Too extreme opposites. Like me.

I just wanted to send out a something. Like a knock on some wood. Little taps to know I'm here. Before I slip underwater for the night. I don't know why I write down these people's phone numbers when I never call anyone on this spiffy new cordless telephone.

This is me, when it's quiet. Nighty.

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