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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2007-03-21 | |
The town’s fool,
walks as troubadour and chores a heavy stool This rare bird rebounds on borders, long ones, wide ones cut in dirt In his blowing depth his soul bleeds in dismay all limits of madness when night overlaps day To raise the unspoken the inexpressible skims his skin and cleaves him under the bark of a tree A dreamer, he deters the earth pleats of thousand ants while his heart flutters to contemplate so much further as a wise one, without debate the works of abundant love He drank the bottomless water and returned towards his mansard with little less witticism to harbour He’s the unknown poet, your neighbour The one you’ve never met Copyright ©2007 Johanne Farmer
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