February 28, 2010
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The elaborate melodies still begin.
It seems you drifted ouside,
Like an east wind.

Those shadows,
tate of spices in the Mediterranean whisper.
Charcoal scratches smear the memory,past the tumult of thundering hail.

They haunt your dreams with polished accusations,
floating on the carbonation.
Prickling your conscience till it bled.
That shipload of transplantations,
Flooding your valley with colored threads.

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