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Thursday, March 11, 2010

Thorns

Pavel pointedly wanders
in amaze of blazing roses.
He's drawn to their sharpest thorns.

"My twiddled thumbs have become
arrogantly fat and purple,"
he chances while prancing through puffed

reds on jagged greens. "I'll grant
them prickly fears of draining,
the drip down to gritty dregs."
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