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Ann Beaver
Poems
Jul 2013
A crack in the cement
Wall of pillows
Brick embroidery
Carries a simple bloom
Plume of smoke
Through a crack in the cement
City streets salty
With tears and sweat
Wet with ice
Slip, slice
**** and dice
The only games I know how to play
Why can't I ever mean what I say?
Written by
Ann Beaver
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