Thursday, December 25, 2008

Thought about it
Thought about it
Thought about it
Until the thought itself
Died its own
Private death
From utter exhaustion
The wheels burst open
They lost their grip
The road dead ended
At an unused field
Two inches under rain water
Pencil tip reached
The eraser
Reached the pencil tip

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***All poems are incorrectly formatted. Blogger.com does not allow me to format them they way I want to. saaaaaaaad.