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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:34:27 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 77689
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Wocket in my Pocket
[time] => 2004-12-29 20:47:06
[hometext] => It's like an ink blot. I don't even know what it means.
[bodytext] => In my pocket lives a breeze it blows the words and shakes the trees humming of summer and tastee freeze, indeed, I wear a heart upon my sleeve, it's never mine, but I grieve cause it's hers, you see, she's a we and that's concieved a plan for tomorrow a web to weave, a game to play, endlessly, a play has been playing, of that I'm certain, I've watched the calls, how you're hurtin', so take a bow, final curtain. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 207 [topic] => 25 [informant] => CodyJ [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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