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Saturday, January 12, 2013

One of our own to say

your fate is not for you, but for those who mete the plane.
go soft. go steady. they will wait on banks for you.
you are angles and razors
an untouchable daze or some sort of monster
and all i see around you is red and dust.
X? Uncross your arms,
you can't see what's ahead through your wrists.
the paths are laid, the fields are drawn
come leave those voices behind.

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