Crone
Caught upon the strains of antiquity
Brought to subtle boil
Mark'd only by bouts of sleep
Tagged and winged in past error
This poison's potion turned me grey
And this life turned me crone.
What have I lost?
So much and yet so little.
Only pen's ink, needle's thread
And misted heart-drops in a vast ocean.
Crone and not-crone
Calligraphed here on my skin.
10/20/11
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