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I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Virgil's

There are two ways to look at this.

Readers asked... you find this funny or tragic?

My take ... I guess, the answer will depend
on the state of your conscience.






"... than which no evil flies more swiftly. She flourishes as she flies, gains strength by mere motion. Small at first and in fear, she soon rises to heaven, Walks upon land and hides her head in the clouds."
Publius Vergilius Maro

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