where dull memory stands engrossed.
Yet is shaken from sleep again
as the sun rises like the blesse'd host
and gives the middle eye a toast.
- John
Hawkins
.
An Ode to the Voices in My Head
You can't bring other people in *ribbid* just another sturm
und drang mourning in the lack of concentration camp,
barbed wire eyes all around me, shower stall broken *ribbid*
The horse-fire screams up in smoke o, the vanity of bonfires
Is it Guernica or "Guernica?" you have 15 seconds to decide
In this Auschwitz of the mind *ribbid*
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