Clay vessels like urns of Keats
Rimbaud is empty; so very empty
Enigmatic as a prometheus sexton
These wayward silver ships
Dreams of iconic paradise
Her opium smile has two sides
Her fan club is a chain
Identity of a fortress
All shattered by a tyrant
Most of us are tyrants
Art is a bird out of the cage
Violet sailboats deep in the amygdala
Firewall of conscience
These heavy bricks of logic
Your energy is a sphinx
Gold pearl earrings
Poems for the asses
Frames of victorian elegance
Beryl words
When did you quit writing?
She writes for her fan club
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