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I am shell-like, sand-worn and pitted,
Silted with the detritus of anaerobic journeys,
Stinking of salt and the last shreds of what used to live inside.
Better to be filled with grit
Than washed out, hollowed, the empty chambers would hold
Only the susurration of my rising and falling fears,
And the echoes of your own.



( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 26th, 2008 04:19 pm (UTC)
Apr. 26th, 2008 09:40 pm (UTC)
You write something, and sometimes it just gets tossed, and sometimes it's "errr.." but you post/file it for reworking maybe (and often that results in "what the hell was I thinking" and another toss), but sometimes it's "yeah, that works." Even if it still should get another look another time. But thank you.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )