Tuesday, February 09, 2010


I woke up
With my right arm
Out of service
I looked
In the mirror
To see if
The right side of my face
Was crooked
But everything seem
In its place
But my wrist
Felt like a dead ghost

Panic was averted
When I remembered
I can write
Or type
With my left fingers
Working with my left hand
Comes natural
I noticed I can love from the left
It is the same
It is just different
It is like shooting with
The other hand
The target is the same

But it looks and feel distinct
Aged and polished
Exotic and

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