orgami's Diaryland Diary

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plush hell

There are no flames to hell
just the alarm going off
the birds cluttered at the
eave and on the lawn

the traffic mesmerizing
riding the bike along the
curb

Hell is the wheel turning
like life Like taking the
moment in its weakness
like the stacked deck
the rotting wing

the cough that stars small

its the look in the eye
when you've lead against
your intuition
and the entrance is
forgotten

but by then its a whole
new game

12:15 a.m. - 2010-08-06

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