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Post by Ivan Carswell on Jan 27, 2008 20:11:36 GMT -5
The light in her life dimmed and failed, dissociating places she knew without needing to see: the half-empty cup of tea placed unconsciously on the corner of the table, next to the phonebook she never used, in view of the mirror given only to reflecting bad feelings, by the curiously silent phone; all these receded into featureless shadows. But her ears heard every thunderous falsehood uttered in thirty five years. © 14 March 2007, I.D. Carswell
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Post by Bernard Alain on Jan 28, 2008 22:10:15 GMT -5
Ivan I like this, particularly the body of the poem and how it reads like a string (phone coil) of thoughts leading up to the reciever ... very nice.
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