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there is a brush

I know there is a brush
solemnly standing for me
past the fingerprints
that claim to be mine
past the pacing woman
convinced there's nothing to drink
past the clown claiming
he must entertain everything
past the touch
that scorched so sweetly
I'm afraid to examine the burn
past the prisoner
who doesn't know how long he's been in his cage
past all of memory's tattered flags
past the salt of the earth lost in the sand
my fears sink your leaves
down to your roots and cut them
yet they spring back
with lullabye laughter
let me fall asleep
into those silent hidden nests
only twigs now
but still alive
and able to grow

23 Jul 10

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people who paint with objects never say why.
 — manuka

thanks for the rating

thanks for replying
 — manuka

wonderful art work
 — psychofemale

thanks psychofemale

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