Monday, September 26, 2005

Tiny Dancers

she loved how slim he was in black his perfect puppetry of tiny dancers a private universe of pain, delight her gross molecules collided in that small space, his theatre in fine white hands held their fate but he danced solo on the wires solo died alone, vile alien invasion death would wipe away the stain but he left a pretty purple shirt that she found and wore for years

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