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I started writing a book once
but gave up after ten minutes
there was something about the blank pages
staring back at me like a mirror

	(someone asked me once
	why I don't paint a canvas
	when I can't find the words
	I answered that I hadn't
	found colors dark enough yet

	I still don't know
	if I was joking)

The greatest poet I've ever seen
wrote "cock" on a wall
over and over and over again
	(until the paint ran out) 
she never knew why