Words
Edison Pool Words are but slivers, that poke and prod, feelings to rise, from distant surfaces, where they dwell, in unseen pools of memories, stored...
Edison Pool Words are but slivers, that poke and prod, feelings to rise, from distant surfaces, where they dwell, in unseen pools of memories, stored...
I can’t get lost in time. It ticks too slowly, ticking out its measured tock. Brief segments don’t wander. Purposeful slivers collect in piles that...
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