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Promises shift like
windblown sand skids over the truth
[omission doesn’t count?]
unspoken untruths rearrange rippled dunes,
chafe cheeks, bloody chins.
A place is saved for you, oh thief of honor,
at the end of a long line
of perjurers.
You are in just company.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
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