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in the smiling eyes of death we find comedy
in the unthinkable flatness of dust we discover photography
we are our grains and height
awake late, again, 
someone warm loving you 
in a dream
in the other room
a truck full of swimming boys
swerves hysterically on route 17
commerce passing by in streaks unnoticed
in the absence of true friendship we find poetry
in the darkness of faith we trace our hands like children.

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