poet
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Tick…. tock….. tock of the clock, the bells, chiming along inside my urgency, latency, where I dwell, there are old wounds now to dispel…
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I have forgotten to tell you my name You may have seen me through the window The shop windows after the shop has closed dreaming of outside from where you’re looking in the dreams of my childhood are kept in the back behind a secret latch, a secret doorway Through which would I let wrong…
anita lorraine moore 