August 16, 2010
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There is a cricket-
A cricket on the rim
Of my ear. It sings-
Singing a warning call.
Shrill cries from a
Creature of little value.
But, who do you sing
For, my subtle spirit?
You fail to answer,
Shrewd soul. I could-
Could just crush
You. It would be so
Easy. Quick.
But my angered arm
Is falling-resting
Limp and lifeless.
Paralysis, perhaps.
For without you-
You who kissed
my cheek. The realm
I call my own, swallows
Me and purges
The remains of
The motionless shell.

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