Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Poem of the Day 8

_mornings after insomnia_

if night is a bird
to be dissected &
dreams flight, we
awake strangers,
stranger than
how we arrived.




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prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general. Maybe something related to taking out the trash each week or washing the dishes every night--or something more bizarre (yet still a routine).

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