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dwarf and fire

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

your 

     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
 
 
 
 
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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 🙂

    Reply
  2. but i wanted to be Chagall 😦

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

    Reply

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