Prism Self
Poetry of the Gypsy Self
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Icicles
Tinkling sound of bells
Dripping icicles
the eaves of the big gray house
In winter
And they taste so much like
Icicles do
Which is to say
They tasted like the house
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Fire Fairy
A woman, writing from planet earth, things I've learned from my life.
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