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Thursday, August 07, 2003

Second (to Jack Kimball for the books)


When the first storm hit
no consequence at all
rhymed digital empire
control of merry

the trusting ones know
nothing is lost in
despair
or clocks work magic

fibers respond like-wise
grease under wheels
but by summer her skin had
bloomed, she had grown

to a slight version of self
bent knees and all over these
simplified side rails
soon to be super-human

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