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Jan 2015
Would it be here, of all places,
that my precluded kinship
find a higher meaning?
And if so, then what is it at all
that some sort of recompense
be made for the multiplicity of my failures?

I would not be found by lamplight,
like some curious drachma: warm
and celebrated.

Only acknowledged, set back
into the mix of various things
that are within your pocket.
Some day recalled, maybe,
but for what I have earned you.

Never for my presence,

So I should leave now
and stare into a thousand bur oaks
that line such a poorly December road
and notice only my reflection.
Though, if I am more bent
than even the lowliest branch,
where would this lead?
Free write.
Written by
Jory  Chicago
   Jennifer G, Weeping willow, ---, ---, --- and 3 others
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