round and round we go

to the rhythm of a calliope

proud resin stallions

chomping at the bit

we rise and fall

we writhe and stall

as the world spins around us

darling, are we marching to war

or to bed?

halt – lower your sword

let my hips dismiss

and disarm you


be the flower wreath

on my trusty steed

be the last battle cry

keep your eyes on my prize

galloping in sensual circles

we ride to infinity

we hide our intentions

we disguise the inevitable

lets do it again

over and over and over

— a.duncan 2016

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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