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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 12:14:05 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 6517
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => FINGERS
[time] => 2002-11-11 05:30:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => FINGERS
My momentum quickens to a run, Concealed behind furs from the rays of the sun. I flicker into life towards a quiet house, My step almost as quiet as a scampering mouse. The house seemed dingy drained of life, A window easy to open with the insertion of a knife. The living room at least was of adequate size, Elaborate curtains fastened with ties. Silver spoons, candlesticks, my face turned to a grin, Toasting myself I down a glass of fiery gin. Filling a sack with peoples possessions, I slip out quietly onto open roads. A barn seems an ideal place for my hoard, My stash hidden away behind a broken board. Police begin a search but find no trace, Of the mysterious burglar with no face. With no witnesses or ant clues, I drift away with my loot and tools. Across dewy fields of planted rye, Man with no face sneaks quietly by. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 161 [topic] => 25 [informant] => wellsmark [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 11 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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