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FixedInto disrepair, I will things that work,
Instead choosing to focus on stuck keys
Which stick, in locks licked with black
paint too thick, much like windows
Which don't open in my bedroom
With a fresh gasp and a sting of Autumn rain.
I could fix them with a knife,
Down in the whitewashed crevice,
If I could spare the cutlery.
As it is I'm eating pasta with a spoon.
It doesn't taste any better, but
Doesn't taste any worse, either.
When all clocks read time differently,
Whole days are misplaced in the hallway
Between bed, bath and beyond –
Which invariably reveals itself to be nothing
Those Were the DaysVera’s car was there, no others, and Bert gave thanks for that. He saw her pressed against the driver’s seat of her minivan, the one they used to share, and remembered the day at the dealership fondly. She was pregnant with their first child and the dealer had rambled about the safety of the babe, as if they didn’t already know this. Bert shook his head and stumbled towards the vehicle, immediately regretting dragging her from bed this late.
When he slid inside the red van, Vera said nothing. They sat there in the deserted parking lot and listened to the humming of the motor. Finally, she glanced at him sideways, frustratio
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More