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Aug 2010
a dull pencil
lay to the left of me
and the glass of water is dry,
to the point
the atmosphere hath licked
the contents away with spiteful pride.
a message blinks intermittent
as my file lay awake
with blood-shot eyes and frustration,
this job I cannot take.
© Christopher Rossi, 2010
Written by
Christopher Rossi
976
 
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