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Post by Dunstan Attard on Aug 9, 2007 4:14:14 GMT -5
i remember a time when father’s hands strangled nettles...
still wonder why his palms always changed colour to indigo.
in any case he had no sense of taste;
nicotine death since age thirteen.
then yesterday he walks in even as I dined on a dull night.
and his smile climbed down the cliffs onto the fields into the sunrise.
i see that he remains a stickler for time
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