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Say When


ISSUE:  Winter 2004

Some days there is nothing
of the blues
     I can use
so I put down
my pen & walk instead

humming “Memories
of You” by Louie
Armstrong—
     it won’t be long
before I have forgotten

the words, and soon
enough the words

will have gone
& forgotten me—

the silence we all meet.

I guess at God—
     the road twisting east

or south toward
the quarries,
     fading light.

My body rejecting
my own heart.

Trees touching
above the buildings.

I want to raise
my face
to the blackboard sky—

forgetting how hard
it is for me
not to believe—

& scrawl my name
on a slate

no hand can erase.

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