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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 12-June 21:18:40 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 131842
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Still
[time] => 2007-02-17 11:18:50
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Sometimes when the air is still heavy with darkness but the breeze smells of dawn I go to the cemetery I sit on worn gravestones, lean back on my palms [so when I pick them up again grit is embedded in the soft flesh of my hands] kick my feet, [but softly, as not to disturb the spirits] and recite my poetry, because the dead won't critique [but they never clap.] [comments] => 2 [counter] => 174 [topic] => 43 [informant] => SweetHeartDealer [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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