Woolf
By chrispypin
Mon, 13 Sep 2004
- 640 reads
I was anaesthetized by life, gently drowned
by rules and conversations
about weather and television. I slept through
twenty-three years of flat prose
from ridgid minds, not knowing my words
were pinned down beneath steel blankets,
until your voice threw back the covers
and slapped me awake. Now I see rules
like prison bars across the page.
Now this page will never be the same.
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