but for some crazy reason, your words below
elucidate the inspiration for the feeble effort, I posted today:
'Love stings.
And fog covers, the aura
of falling leaves― green
yellow and red. I survive
the quake.
A tiff burns the fingers.
I will not hold the pen.
The blank paper shivers.
Who will write the
wet poem?'
(thank you! Guru)-L. B. Mek
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