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Come to Me Again
I say your name, hoping it will start the flow of words I so desperately wish to put on this page. Yet once the sound has passed my lips, there is…
Oct 7
•
H. J. Buell
2
The World is Van Gogh
A Poem by H. J. Buell: The world is Monet. At night. When colors slip into the sun. And the lights glow like Christmas. It’s an Unfinished Picasso. With…
Oct 6
•
H. J. Buell
1
This Is Alcoholism
I woke up one morning to the realization I'd wandered away from the shallow pool of sobriety and into the deep waters of alcoholism... It was Friday…
Oct 3
•
H. J. Buell
2
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