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Post by Don Schaeffer on Aug 1, 2012 8:54:16 GMT -5
That cat that died smelled from a long-endured ear cyst like old sweat . He pooped the rug so we mourned conflict-ridden mourning.
When we buried him we couldn't say a prayer. He died among a foreign people. His god would not hear the prayers of aliens. We lived side-by-side but apart. He had his god we have ours.
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