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(against the day)
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2010 She thinks she can see grace,
through the smoke
little piles of ashes on the counter,
ash-trays filled with peanut trays and bottle
caps
She wants to turn them into poetry
a phrase, or two, to capture
gruff voices, gray beards
What would these men say
if they knew they
were being turned into a poem?
look at her, scribbling nonsense
pretending she knows what it's like to live
