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I am so tired.
So I have no reason not to reread
the poem
he wrote for me
for the thirteenbillionth? trillionth? time
I my mind I see it as blinding white, soft yellow, calm to the mind
soft to the touch
I re
read it again –is that redundant?–
and lean my head against the leather headrest of the
passenger seat
So young so innocent is that what we were?
My mother shoves the road map at me
I am so tired.

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alwaysthinking said...
Sept. 26, 2010 at 1:18 am
i really like it. good job
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