A new poem:
Re:
mark
I
labour
do
not think that I do not
I
burn the world on my shoulders
and
turn the blade on my arms
this
is not done funnily
neither
is there a lark
to
be seen nor found here
as
winter walks into the dark already
half
blindfolded
I
will feel my way
I
will talk
I
will make my mark
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