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Aug 1

our cigarette smoke
built up a spiral staircase

upon which our conversation climbed
word by word

becoming now a hieroglyph
blown away by the saxophone

our calligraphy  of thought
written upon the air

the jazz making it illegible
as a doctor's signature

words our words
collecting upon the ceiling

like out of reach cobwebs
or escaped Christmas balloons

our words looking down
upon us

at all that was still left
Donall Dempsey
Written by
Donall Dempsey  Guildford
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