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Tell the kids I miss them

with words a smaller thing,
I am forgettable
forgiveness,
I miss
a cigarette,
when the smoke is pretty
behind any special world.

I’m impressive and very
ready, I need a score
though her love rules it,
growing almost right to
look right through it

through dark pine branches
through white milk hanging
blowing wind
from the sea,

the attention, the long structured shadows
the gray driftwood
the sun bleached trim
of the blue room

where my Lisette
sat thinking,
she slammed the door
no one replied,

“gimmick,”
she replied to herself,
it was an empty threat.
There was no more to be heard;
forsook the tongue,
and then the lunge
missed, instead of kissed,
and it was sad.
Posted 10/06/13
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