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Oct 2021
dissolves soon as it hits
the sidewalk. A streak of saline
on the window runs down
as the wind blows. A river

of teardrops make a water
bed. As night passes the baton
the river turns red. Red as
the African sunset. Fast and low

as a Chevy Corvette. Weeping
as a willow. The stain on
the pillow is the shape of a butterfly.
If only it fly off taking with it

the rain, the crystal fountain
of pain. In the day it is squeezed
into cubes and freezes as bones
on the *****. Only taken out again
in the hands of drinking men.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
127
   Thomas W Case
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