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Jul 2016
the town is dry and you can
look in the bins where the residue
lies, lies to you about
where the water was and isn't
and you still see the line where it was
and wonder that maybe it's still
in them, clear, like air, you
touch the cracked surface
of the plaster where it rained
and it's dry but your memory is
cold and wet and dreary
Written by
z  nowhere
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