I’m riddled with errors, machine-gunned
by wrong, leaking half-truth like rain
on a sun-rinsed day, like this day
which leaves no room for melancholia, for black bile,
the true meaning of the word
which I misread and gave myself to
happily, my heart skipping rope like a girl,

and to think I almost rushed here to tell you.

{ Paul Guest }

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About Klassy

How Klassy got her groove back.

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