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Sep 2012
A cigarette
fell
on a gravestone once.
                                       Bursting
p o w d e r  like sand
over the names that
sunk into the stone:

Vessels         carrying memories
                      and dirt
to somewhere
that had burned away
long ago.

I'll tell you I was
there.
Waiting, cursing,
******* in smoke
as you too               embarked.
Written by
TJ King  Portland, Or
(Portland, Or)   
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