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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Tuesday, November 17, 2015


And the moon shown
With a light of its own
You were standing in its shadow,
Nothing green grows
There’s no music anymore
A silence sleeps here darkly snoring,
A tiny nodal spark
Carries on the torch
I’m lost inside my heavy head,
And your sweet perfume
Soothes every feisty fume
And I will never again need to get up.

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