When we take too much time off

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When I walk away from the

fallen temples, there are endless

streams of hair.  I fall into

them, one by one.  Dusk falls,

then night, then dawn comes

to us again.  My lover prowls around

the banks, trying to find a place to pick me

up, but my head is lost in the streams and

my hands are small.

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the sight of a monster

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you dip into the

maroon sweaters in your

boyfriends store.  the heavy white stones

at the edge of the town

hang over your legs, and

the sound of your voice

extends to light pink gardens.  if you said

something about your plight, it

would go a long way.