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and "good" photojournalism photos will go to
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Hope for GazingI want beauty to die, slowly and painfully. I want the subservient muse to go the way Of other cast-out barbarisms; For a sleek red dress to slide Down a stoic frame and melt to magma, Standing jewels to thaw and cry, and each firm frame Run in terror, and hide its structured self in shame. They know they belong Far away in a world that was crafted With grasping hands, Cemented with fearful hearts, Decorated with the gushings of a one-sided lust And overgrown with the in-bred vines of aHope for Gazing
Self-spent passion.
The world rotated once, Shaking loose b


UnicoMouth - warm pillow. (is, not like) To cushion smarting lipsUnico
Like lips of mine. Eye - a sphere of sea, sapphire, sky.
A field and every field of hair Pan outward agelessly so I may say One follicle (has the nature of a)
Star in a tender swirl.
(like) Conglomeration, making up the whole
Speckles wrapped around me
(are, not like) my constellations. This shape (is) my long life
By comparison. Essential Path of thought, how to re-arrange you? Souls of mine are various
Written and dispersed through space And paper.


Problems in Speech and RomanceMy student body unanimously loved a little sprite spun into a silent cloud Because she was small and lovely And never spokeProblems in Speech and Romance
Grave eyes and a sensuous face
Hinted at knowledge beyond Her size
She exemplified In her still solitude The aura of the mind And people came from near and far to try to break her
Her boyfriend said of her That she was a good listener
Once in a car with me She performed a magic trick and slipped Into the seating vanished In the frame, and did not even leave a smokey trail My fath


untitledTrying to direct non-actors Women in chic black coats passing by Where is the other side That cannot read my mind?untitled
You the mysterious Easy-going nicely dressed Pleasant smiling Are you always as inside As you are out? Are you always as outside As you are in? The cool hand And the friendly head Do you shake
Thinking of a line of strangers Foreign thoughts lying under skin Never to be seen After a second dead Underfoot - the passerby
Goes on living
--
Ink runs in my veins.
--
"Have a cluckity-cluck-cluck day, Hugo."
--
"Have a cluckity-cluck-cluck day, Hugo."
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