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had to be some 3:A.M. one pour 2 many poem

it’s not the twilight
of memory
that worries me

or the foot speed
that pratfalls
at a canter

nor the Heave Ho
effort for so paltry
a pulmonary response

It’s that the degradation
isn’t singular


It’s shared

She can’t lie. I’d

But her eyes break faith.

I am the burden.

Her true
and well

Day 8 NaPoWriMo 2013

Not a Bad Cover

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