Over?
Is it over?
can't turn,
every which way
confusion,
the grey flat day
in and out of spats,
that's
why
loneliness
is in different rooms,
the baggage handlers
unable to cope.
Poetry by shells
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Written on 2012-09-24 at 23:26
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StillHoppin |
Ferenc Inigo Beck |
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ngaio Beck |
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