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Mar 13, 2006 22:49

Maladroit Graceless



MALADROIT GRACELESS
Our eager reach evolves to a stumble,
separated by the absolute thinnest of lines;
Our arms outstretched, our gain - quarantined
locked in by the absolute thickest of skulls.
A masque of two-stepping limbs;
blue as the frail sky,
green as amateurs come.
Our true faces masked
by selfish attempts to rise to the top
Whilst we, with our small digits,
grasp whatever we can of our bedsheets;
Eternally locked at the peak of the falling dream.
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