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118: Standing at the Prison Gate, I Was Icarus Plummeting to Earth.

writing class radio

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The Fireflies Dance

Catholic guilt rears its ugly head. Guilt is my shadow during the day, my blanket at night. The fireflies remind me of the fireworks from the fourth of july. I am an anxious jungle cat in some low rent zoo,. biding my time, waiting for the opportunity to slip through some forgotten door. It won't happen a second time. Iam going to dance with the fireflies. When i do, his face gets clear.

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