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Out of the Bag
2CBurt

She saw butterflies stop by the
 1
bookcase, in the smoke of our loose
 2
postures.  He flinched. Her bruised eyes slide
 3
onto the voyeur turned to use
 4
of laughter in pursuit, best hope
 5
that he can muster at rest in
 6
the thunder while the fading out
 7
of body ghost still smiles about
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the dirt on her hands, the hole in
 9
her tongue, what she has become; glad
 10
to be speaking through reeds and sad
 11
for the trouble she's been. Kohl on
 12
her face, and she's proud like he's dead;
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he'd stay there for good if she said
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that he could, but he doubts that she
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would, since she has roses, tipped by
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her window.  Curled as a cat she
 17
sits and flashes skins so bright eyed
 18
child springs to mind, the menace of
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the morning street, the white face spilt
 20
with smoulders catching cinders while
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she meets and holds his crooked smile
 22
sidelong, never backing down.  He
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considers himself impressed, and
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wishes he'd forgotten to stand,
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just this time, on solid ground. He
 26
wishes he were right for once. Rain
 27
drums on; it's in his head again.
 28

15 May 07


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Comments:

i like something about this
 — unknown

Hmm.  Something?  I'll make sure I include that in the next draft then... anything more specific at all? Cheers.Bx
 — 2CBurt

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