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the Misunderstanding
March 26, 2011
these sorry storms leave stains,
big bones feel bare, flossed and tossed,
in that heap resembling me, or you, or them;
wilting flower, short-cut stem;
delicate, on the edge, tips,
tumbles, over, shattered, lost; at what cost?
always, darkness pours; through our minds, our veins,
behind our eyes, from our lips, our fingertips.
© Carly M., Hopedale, MA
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