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Tuesday, November 11, 2003

North Alley

There is nothing so succumbing as a wound.
When placed with skill words fall harmless,

Speak expectancy of a toddler
Unaware a shot has been fired. Rifle

Through the past for bullets that graze the
Hair on your arms, then speak softly into a radio

Words that sooth people you have not met, climaxes
To lesser scenes in your happy drama.

My head, your heart, knocked together to
Create bulletproof stars.

11/11/03

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