"up to the country whence the shadows fall."
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline,
like a row of captured ghosts, over old dead grass. Was never much, but we made the most.
Peel the scars from off my back. I don't need them anymore. You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars.
I've come home.
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