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~
A scribbled note passed
from one insider to the next.

The day she runs out of people
she'll conference with birds,
fall asleep a child
and wake up a woman,
broadcasting from home
on the night in question.

A hundred years from today,
she'll hold on to dead flowers
from the fairground encounter.

She will avoid the bridge,
circle instead around
the walls of Jericho.

She'll write upon the wall
like it was her heart.

~
The way that dusk
is the bed of dawn,
enveloping its light
with a blanket of stars

The way her body
is intimately drawn,
to the shelter of night
caressing her scars

©
I love it when kids say,
'back in the day'

I look at them
and think when and what day?

they is not even twenty
thinks they've seen plenty
but
they have seen *** all.
ONE DAY AT A TIME

creases line your face
you are a bit frayed
about the edges

  
I unfold your smile
hold you
in the palm of my hand

you stare at me
as you always do
while I refold your smile

put you
back into
my wallet

  
( the fact of your death
quickly tucked away )
as night

gathers me
softly
to itself

street lights
with yellow eyes
watching

me
dissolve
. . .in mist
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