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Do You Really Need a Title? The New Order is a linty black sock loose upon a pasty ankle propped on the edge of a willow desk. Outside the stained glass window the press ants carry the forest one leaf at a time to the wounded. The Empress has gone to her forest retreat where she used to blind shoot the snowy bears that followed the lemmings in those days. She whitens softly now like a Russian princess. Don’t dare mess with these words with your own thoughts! The truth is right between here and your eyes. These words are like my old mate whose funky smell I miss. Yeah we were those ripe old goats who stayed behind on the tor with the ark as the rest followed wash down the canyon drain. We chewed that thing to sawdust leaving the figurehead for last, last trace of the ancient race. Her bones are pure light now as condors cruise, their tilts telling me the earth exhales, the flood returns, but do I care?

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BWOWP_WHITE01  

Black Words On White Paper is a unique literary journal, publishing poems and flash fiction that fit onto a single page. This is the premier...

BWOWP_WHITE01  

Black Words On White Paper is a unique literary journal, publishing poems and flash fiction that fit onto a single page. This is the premier...

Profile for bwowp
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