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Sunday, December 07, 2003

Told to a Rose Under Snow

I’m trying to angle through this mess, be a
Good soldier and curb my enthusiasm for you.
But speech is regicide tonight, a wreck off the harbor, so
To speak, where good intent lies next to the
Last of our breaths together. Now is not the answer
To the question of when, but neither will the next now
Bring us closer to the harsh words we were meant
To share. Give me a call. We’ll hash and tangle our way
To a new speck of established prose. Sing this to
A rose.

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