theolem.org/output/the-woods.html
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<h1>The woods</h1>
<h4>28.08.2014</h4>
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<p>Deep inside the dark vault<br>
amongst and beneath the crumbs of last Autumn<br>
lies a dreaming human stump<br>
as if he were deceased<br>
as if he were faulted </p>
<p>over his tanned wrinkled skin<br>
victim of winds and feasting dragonflies<br>
rolls the residues of the last<br>
thousand evenings' fogs<br>
as if he had been dreaming </p>
<p>here with the drops of melting ice<br>
circling his lips as the years slided by<br>
perhaps conveying an inch of a thought<br>
in the canyons of his torturous brains<br>
on New Year's Eve, sometimes. </p>
<p>the muddy factory of souls that lies<br>
underneath his legs and arms<br>
for that while has worked him<br>
with the tools nature provides<br>
with the time it saw running. </p>
<p>Now as soon as the morning light<br>
pierces through the misty heights of the Atlas mounts<br>
finally the mandibles will cut and slice<br>
and tear for the grinning to become<br>
a house for a thousand souls. </p>
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