One year ago I wrote this poem on a napkin while I waited for my friend, H.
I wonder about the inspired flaws
I grapple with defeat,
and "I'm dissapointed with the King",
caught up in her own inspiration,
she claws at beauty's neck,
love sits idly by her,
and she knows him not yet
January 6, 2009
"For a moment, she re-discovered the purpose of her life. She was here in earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and call each thing by its right name.” -Boris Pasternak
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