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Jan 2020
my pasts queue up
like street cruisers
at a mafia funeral

father, son, ghost, story
i am poured out
or divided like marbles

grainy prints and old letters
hunt me up and down stairs
a socked columbus returns;

all the time i ask if that
is all i will ever manage
this little, this loss, this day
Written by
Leslie Philibert  63/M/Germany
(63/M/Germany)   
55
   S Olson
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