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Off the Hook
My dreams are often troubled by useless things.
A land-line clicks on and off repeatedly
the dreamless are phoning me.
long disused.
I found a kitten in the cold winter woods
it died while I drove it to the shelter.
My intervention was just another path
to its end.
I want an old record turntable,
I miss the revolutions,
how the 33rpm vinyl slow-spins,
how you can read the record label
from the bottom of a whisky glass.
A phone hums-on in my head.
static, white noise – who can say?
This I know
there is no shelter in this world.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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