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Tuesday, February 14, 2006

from the archives

Absence makes the heart grow crazy

beating inside a hollow chest—pounding

like wolves on a plain of solitude.

Time dies, starts again and dies—

dragging its broken springs behind.

The twinkling of glass breaks all around.

The night passes in games of Gin Rummy

with long stretching hours. Winning,

of course. There shall be pain for sure

as light lingers and goes on like mad

ticking. Sands add to the pile and

the Sun labors across the sky, drying

the heart that is almost empty.

Ripping it out each night,

it is full again in the morning.

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