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My whiskey drunk, I twist around to catch the white blur of the great horned owl as it swoops from telephone pole to fence post, ears alert, ready to undermine the idea of calm and quiet I’d let settle over me as I drained my glass.
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He turned off the light. His wife was breathing slowly. At her bedside, he spoke of her friends the roses, of the pretty carnation brooch he had pinned to her silk scarf, of the alluring hat which fitted her so well. Small souvenirs, simple and vivid, the heavy night…
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until the last wisps started their heartless descent
admitted by default to this curious flock
a sorority I never wanted to join
the red poison drips relentless
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What did you choose? What are your intentions? You can always help. Water and a little tenderness in your touch. But words matter, too. They are felt, not just heard. They are ingested, not just listened to, you've got to speak with love, not…
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