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Friends Who Write

You and I experience the world

The way that a tender doe

Experiences flight,

Then falls on its side in relief,

Gratefulness,

Newfound wisdom;


Becomes myopic and can only see

What it takes to survive;

What it must do to live a little longer;

Acknowledges that the only way out

Is forward,

Then moves forward.


When we line up our magnum opuses—

The only of our words that have ever mattered—

They form the truest cento that will be.

The one we all are dying to catch from the air

And place on paper for memory's sake;

The one about living;

The one we must all abide by.

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Mother

Outside the building During gray showers I am entertaining a cigarette Underneath my umbrella. Nearby, a mother folds her child Into her jacket Like a newspaper being protected From the rain. For me

I Write About You

I arrive to the bar on Thursday night for writing group And attempt to domesticate love words, But they escape me like herds that Have grown suspicious of the sight of me As if I am a poacher in the w

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