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Showing posts from September, 2012

When pain finds a voice

It isn't mine

It's three in the morning,
my brain.
A terrible sound.

It's three in the morning.
My brain,
a terrible sound.

It's three. In the morning,
my brain.
A, terrible sound.

(Sept. 2015)

Rummaging through sheets, mutilating my brain with scenarios about the new school, about the new minds I'll have to carve into
at three in the morning. When, suddenly, 
a terrible sound approaches my heart - It isn't mine. A man's crying in the street
a woman’s name. I jump and lean 

over the window sill. A shadow
on the pavement, holding a bottle,
is sobbing and howling like the eviscerated
puma of Doctor Moreau.
(Sept. 2012)

(un exercițiu)