Best Poem of Cristina Musat

Winter
Boughs of dead tree tops

Scraping silent winter skies –

Blood veins of the earth. . . .
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Morning
GOT UP.

After drinking some of my so-to-say Victoria coffee, just spent some time with my folks. Deceiving. Inside only; pass the butter, see what this lemon here does for the papadie tea? Oh yea, not a bit of sourness. Great meal. Better than those omelets, had some eggs yesterday.

Are you rewriting something?
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