orgami's Diaryland Diary

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Wasteland
a line in a song by interpol

all the wounds of love
septic in their chance
would it be best to
never know
or have clashed and wear
the graze and punctuation

wasteland
all the foliage overgrown
my heart has patina
and I write a poem

and I now longer roam

why is the quest never
ending forty seven
years this year
im ancient
the white hairs and lines
all the haggard years
and ragged lives

and for all I want away
from the formality of
intimacy I crave like a
hunger its magic bliss

im broken
for years

coveting the wounds
like a prize
the wounds last longer
then love

they become the reality
thats not real

La la land

oh to be

10:20 a.m. - 2011-01-08

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