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.....The Poetry Of.
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Karen Corcoran Dabkowski
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What I Saw At 4:35
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Eighty eight
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degrees, asphalt like a
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sun
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surface
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baked beyond the
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coolness of my car
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queued up, creeping down
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the hillside with the others toward the
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Birmingham Bridge
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and there was
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in my
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rearview
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Charles Manson
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Christ
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or prophet, one foot turned
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inside, almost tripping the
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other
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booted one. Heavy trousers,
winter
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jacket, black hair
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hung like drapery down the
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reddest, boiled lobster face I'd ever seen,
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creased in pains I couldn't imagine
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he was
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walking down the
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Bus Lane, marked with
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diamonds
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diamonds
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diamonds-----something
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that we
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ordinary folk
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had never
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trod
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upon.
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I had the idea
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it all
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meant
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something
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wonderful
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and terrible
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and terrifying
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together, wisked with life
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and death and fine belief held onto
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with our baby fingers, filaments to a place
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where we'd all meet and maybe
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for once
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it'd be alright.
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It was important
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he was walking, that odd
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pilgrim,
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so estranged
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and then
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the light changed
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and the mystery left
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with the pulled, sad green of going.
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Double Stride
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Now dangle down
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old dopple
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ganger,
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double-walker
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shadow self and
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sometime
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guide-
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ride
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the sidewalk
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here beside me
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fast to feet
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and stitched to tenfold
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fingertips
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you're the one
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who dances
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when I slip into
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the wainscot
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you,
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the knife
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who slices
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when I walk away-
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who
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never
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prays- but pulls the
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sun up everyday
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you are
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unstoppable and overlay
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my crown to toe:
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I love
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you so.
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Stripped Away
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Brushing my teeth,
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looking into the nude
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face of childhood, last trace of
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Maybelline, all pencil lines
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gone, a cold child stares back at me
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and I am reminded of the chalk faces of the Children
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Of The Damned: eyes slate. No expression.
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Statue children who killed everyone
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they looked at. That movie
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used to frighten me.
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Now fifty,
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studying the
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child there still, I see the
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damage done. I have become
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by what I do without: the greedy fists
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that carried everything to mouth
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to nurse, seek food, flesh and chest
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walls beating,
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hearts mashed close enough
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to hear, I've weaned away.
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There is not
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one soul
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I could not say goodby to
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with a steady gaze and turn and walk away;
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not one. I am the stone child
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and that doesn't even
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scare me.
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I cap the toothpaste, turn out the light
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and realize what a comfort
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darkness is, and what a blessing,
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silence.
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