Isthmus of Ignatz

Brick by Brick

Monday, November 08, 2004

Her gravelly sniffs make me thirsty:
mum put on the sari will ya, he's waiting
how many years, sort it out, how may times
will you fight on taking your line?
In every moment youre only escaping:
what when he dies and you remain - a tantrum woman
alone. still fixing her pleats.

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