Tuesday, June 28, 2011

#7 - The Sveater

The sveater was full of holes and hung forgotten in the closet alone like a jilted lover left to cry on a rainy street or a flea carcass clinging to a single hair long after the passing of its life-force; a tiny speck on the face of a world lost somewhere in the universe.

It had belonged to a poet and been the subject of many an ode or sonnet.

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