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The memorial service was a time
for men to hold hands and cry.
I left for a cigarette –
each drag was a coma.
As I walked away,
I changed my gait to step
on brittle-looking leaves.
It is my fall hobby –
destroying that which is already dead.
I wanted to ride a magic carpet,
stiff as a flag on the moon,
alone in the sky,
but I embraced you, my stoic friend,
now shuddering.

26 Mar 07

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Not bad.
Lines three and four were lovely.

I really don't love that last stanza.
I wrote a bunch of reasons why, then deleted them because they made no sense.
Anyway, I enjoyed this piece.
 — the_recluse

Would a flag be stiff on the moon?  Is there wind?

Either way, this is good.  It's solid and creates a scene that you never waver from.  
 — Isabelle5

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