The book detective.A Poem by andrew mitchell
While the identity
of the write was earmarked, the dog ear corners marking the truth turned out to be fiction until the book fell to the floor open the lies got away, the truth remained.
© 2020 andrew mitchell |
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2 Reviews Added on September 24, 2020 Last Updated on September 24, 2020 Authorandrew mitchelladelaide, AustraliaAboutStrindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..Writing
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