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Niagara on the Lake, Ontario, Canada
My virtue is that I say what I think, my vice that what I think doesn't amount to much.

Thursday, July 30, 2015


Cecil - Lynn Crosbie

Slow slink black streaked mane

The smell of blood, I can’t resist

Pain enters and racks me I try to hide

Two moons

When the crack sounds I am almost grateful

I saw this once in the ache of the sun My skin being stripped away

My head severed

Someone dancing slowly with great, bleeding cats

Smiling I liked him?

“He liked people,” someone says

I did not

But it seemed like a game they called me good

Just before I swallowed the jagged sky above the

SAFE line and persisted

Until every screaming star went down.

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