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As the Crow Flies

I am tired
of trying
to make sense
of your death.

Maybe I should
dye my hair.

Maybe I should
buy red lipstick.

Maybe I should
go
for a drive
aimlessly
fiddle
with the radio
until a song
comes on.
Then I
remember
you
and look
out the
window
at a crow
flying above
a golden field.

That doesn't
help
because
all I see
is your
feather
black
beard.
Posted 09/14/12
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