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Comments about gregory pierobon
breathing monumental whispers into snow covered grass,
the blades dissect, deconstruct my voice
into waves of simple sound vibrations.
the crystals of frozen rain
dissolve in the fog of my breath.
the ground swallows my secrets.
buries them deep,
through dirt and clay.
they will wait,
six feet below me,
untill the moment is right.
will i die?
because i see the equation,
cut by clean lines,
existing in obscurity.
shadow and light
both dependant on the other