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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:04:32 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 88384
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => NoY
[time] => 2005-03-22 17:46:59
[hometext] => This ones a bit odd. It may not make a lot of sense.
[bodytext] => The screen doors blow open. (Whispers.) His head is in his hands. (He's written the same thing down... Again and Again and Again.) He takes the stack of papers. (His footsteps are muffled on the floor) He goes to the door... (And stands atop the porch.) And lets go. (300 pages flutter into the windy evening.) Like birds they travel for a moment together... And then they go in different ways. And the man just drops... He's said all he's had to say. The pages race along the street... (They slap against a youths back and suprise him out of the trance his music has put him in.) (It begins to rain.) The boy takes one of the pages from his back... (And looks at it not knowing what to expect... Just one word...over and over... (It explains everything.) He doesn't see the headlights as the bare down on him. (It explains everything.) DNB [comments] => 0 [counter] => 142 [topic] => 13 [informant] => ForeverAndADay [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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