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Symptom Recital

Rating: 3.1
I do not like my state of mind;
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
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COMMENTS
David 26 August 2018
I love her poetry. She is as fresh today as when she published these dear creatures.
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John Richter 07 April 2015
OMG, Dorothy... I freaking love you... Why did you live before I? Your poetry doesn't chase rainbows, or forlorning stars, or sprinkles of sparkly things - its just human - so open, honest, bare.... what a force to reckon with...
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