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Dec 2010
Down from his gate,
two shadows donned courses.

A lighted shadow curved
keeping from lying gray besides the body,
harsh like pain, like combat.
Watching quietly,
the head rimmed red and strained.

Hit you back between indiscriminate, tasteless sounds
into an empty pail-
no one drawing inhalations.

Empty at yesterday; pulsed with exhaust.
Grace Culloton (c) 2010
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Grace Culloton
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