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A Cold Rhode Island Morning

Beyond the gates,
Where the old bakery stood,
Was a memory of cold hands and 
The saving glittering gems of the jelly doughnut.
Then late for practice and asthmatic from suicides.
My mother's voice calling in the wind.
When is it all reconstructed the right way?
Under what gray moon do things flutter with meaning
As deep as our bones?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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Date: 6/27/2016 8:37:00 PM
Matt, nice to see this one again. SKAT
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Date: 5/9/2016 5:21:00 PM
"asmatic from suicides". Love it.
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Date: 5/6/2016 4:34:00 PM
lovely write, enjoyed this one, thank you for sharing ~~SKAT
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Date: 5/6/2016 1:33:00 PM
Congratulations Matt on the placement of the contest.
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