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The Blues Are All The Same

by
 ~for Jackson C.
Frank It seems almost too far fetched really, too difficult to believe.
This unassuming moon shining like a copper plate.
These milkcrate blues.
This soft trellis of sound wobbling through the wind as if pouring out from the window of some lonely house on the hill.
How beautiful it is, the ghost of your voice, haunting this empty valley.
Originally published in 2River View 10.
1, 2005 Copyright © Lisa Zaran, 2005

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