April 22, 2009
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Like bark, hard wood, freshly cut
Dead skin stretched thin and taut
A gravel road which no man hath traversed
The crust of a loaf that was almost burnt

Stubble on a young man’s chin
A piece of sandpaper, cut very thin
Scab on top of a healing wound
Craters on the moon

Taste buds on a tongue
The rough side of a sponge
A rusty railroad spike
A worn and tarnished bike

Seashore cliffs, tall and wide
The lonely widow’s aching cry
A subtle, disapproving gaze
The remainder of winter days

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