I slept horrifically last night, but in the couple of hours I was asleep I managed to dream both of some fictional dead artists and of Michael Redgrave in a silent movie he never made. When I relayed the latter information to
selkie, however, I managed to leave a letter out of movie such that she wondered if it was a typo for hive and now I kind of want to do something with that, although at the moment that feels a bit like planning to go personally to the moon. I am not sleeping enough for any of the things I want to write.
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Active Entries
- 1: My old body that you buried with the mud and the timber
- 2: With life and so much loss, time has weighted us
- 3: Out in space, coast to coast
- 4: Like a sprig of yarrow caught in the dark
- 5: The moon still rises on everybody else
- 6: To the green field by the sea
- 7: Eating cereal, remembering the sky
- 8: We'll tell you of a blossom and of buds on every tree
- 9: Am I lost inside my mind?
- 10: And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first
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- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by and
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