Words from 2002Lina ramona Vitkauskas
what becomes of a blue line that you've been breathing for centuries? from ablution of brunette angles—you've dreamed this. this tortuous kismet becoming ennui turning a rubicund cheek; a mirage of acrid clocks; garrulous fingers through the door cracks; this moribund illusion once a polymath and sparrow. at the nadir, what becomes of blue line that you've breathing for centuries; from number 28, a wastrel, a sun born facetiously in the white of each summer?
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