Tuesday 8/08/2006 01:32:00 AM

judiciously we balked
at the freud in
the angle of our words.

easily dismissing
the jung.
feeble as i can
try to be.


in my ire.

soft in my


every finger has
its mark upon the bottle
a bead of sweat to justify

when tomorrow wants to know
what we've done to ourselves

these are our choices.

better. worse.

or only the same.

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