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dwarf and fire

Who pours
Who quaffs
Because you feel like a fool
Wiping  your mouth


     soppy napkin
Across the red sky
To be dried and burned
In a dwarf's stove
Hear the sticks pop and crackle
And when he has warmed his hands
He holds a feather in front of his fingers
The dwarf looks into fire
Through the filter of fingers and feather
he can see his bones
he  lifts a pitcher
With his warm hand

About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

6 responses »

  1. I feel like where I am Van Gogh you are Picasso…just a thought 🙂

  2. but i wanted to be Chagall 😦

  3. haha okay then you can be Chagall! it is a much more better comparison anyway!


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