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We are weird with words, we wild wordwomen and wordmen. We are picking up words on the boulevards in the late afternoon, fetching them in public places, in grassy parks at the crepuscular dusk, we are catching them like lightning bugs in jars, we poke holes in the metal lids to give them some oxygen, we don't want them dying on us. We want to keep words alive. We want to open our two clasped hands and let them fly out in a burst, right into your face.
Posted at 8:23 AM | Permalink
