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Post by leecrowell on Nov 23, 2011 18:27:57 GMT -5
I know you saw me up there. You smiled when they chopped it off, hoped I was a goner. 'He can't run anymore' they said.
And you laughed with them, brought yourself to tears. But I can hobble, baby. and that's how I ended outside your screen door.
I can sit on this porch longer than you can wait for crows feet to etch your face. Jes' like I waited for our mud to dry. Eventually you're gonna let me in.
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Post by Don Schaeffer on Nov 24, 2011 9:42:43 GMT -5
I can't decide if you are an errant pet or a rejected lover--but therein lies the poem. Good work.
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Post by Dunstan Attard on Dec 8, 2011 3:29:49 GMT -5
we are a bit of everything i suppose, only the size of the bits are not the same... the secod read came over as dramatic, propelling the spirt of the human to rise to confront the discounters when least expected...excellent expression
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