Up here, thirty thousand feet I see no markers No demarcations No signs hate here love there green only here grey there bomb this feed that Who paints the lines? by mamajoy Sign in to see full entry.
Of turnips, caterpillars and kings:
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Little poems; how to lick a rainbow, the sky wept, sun peeking,lanterns. . . by Mamajoy. Can I write a poem a day? Hmmmm.
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