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Nov 2012
Calm is a Sunday rain
That Comes to your
bed, wide awake,
In the afternoon
With a proffered bot-
-tle of wine
and breath not stressed
Like the May harbor

Talk is a battered stable
Forgotten in west
Montana We explored,
and you broke
your fingers
On a weathered beam
That Strained,
and collapsed
When you climbed to the
roof to be king.
Written by
Jory  Chicago
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