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Poetry
February 18, 2009
The last syllable
of your poem
ran to the edge of the page
And you say I'm deaf
I say I don't hear you
But I do hear you,
I speak to you
You just don't hear me out
I hear you
I listen
But you don't
I should warn you
That in the end
There will only be me,
A keyboard,
Cigarettes
And the thought in the back of your head
Asking when spring
Will come
© Shana G., Cross Plains, WI
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