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for what it's worth, i

by Marina Dawn

The fine bones
or massless silences

the careful chasms,
how the dark
glass in me weeps.

This foreign, conscripted scene
and no thing:

the sempahores, indecipherable
and closing in the whorl between us.

This final, fracturing sorrow.

07/07/2005

Posted on 07/07/2005
Copyright © 2020 Marina Dawn

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Ashok Sharda on 07/10/05 at 05:25 PM

Sounds sad.But how does one become with a scene so alien.

Posted by Ashok Sharda on 07/10/05 at 05:25 PM

How does one become one, I mean.

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