XXIII

Spiralling

On this day, a dead magpie in the front yard. One that the feral cats have chosen not to eat. How fitting.

Bittersweat and lonesome.

Soon Van - Sunday, 8 February 2004 - 17:59

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Previous entries on Spiralling

• Write Like the Wind
• Asleep in the walls
• Numbing the Matter
• Fingertips Red with Bloody Tension
• Finger Licking Gore
• Gash to an Afternoon Awakening

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