Wednesday, November 03, 2004
A breeze floats on snow, summer's failing arm at last. she whispers to clouds and captains that ships are sailing for women's hopes. whipping at the bulwarks, rusting at the canvas, she pushes the wayward son back to his earthly home.
Links
- a. king's repository
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Previous Posts
- The Competition for Your Job
- shame of same years
- yeah, so posting more...
- so i think i might have found a way to force mysel...
- now remind me:
- The Single Transferable Vote for Canada
- the new lord's prayer
- the long emergency - surviving catastrophies of th...
- chemicals in my cream / fatherhood
- i just saw a UFO!
Archives
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