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Many believe
that everything is written in stars I cannot read them But I notice the absence of light on faces as if vowels are all absorbed by the retina black hole And what is left of the twinkling words is declining consonance I can see joy in the eyes, as well grins decorated with golden pentagrams And I hear primordial syllables silently sparkling in each newly written poem and falling meteor These are our daily prosaic constellations When did you last time try to read them? Copyright ©2005 Luminita Suse
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