poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Black Clad
Black clad a line of crows by the edge of his earthen bed they stand. A restless soul now quiet. From her the obligatory rose. A few words swallowed by the wind. In her mind, an embrace. She was the most delicious thing he ever ate. [8/13/01]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
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