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Archive for April 3rd, 2010

By Howie Good

I raise my hand
in greeting,

but what looks
like a person
coming toward me

isn’t.

The clock is frozen
at ten past.

Individual faces
have become
as indistinguishable
as raindrops.

In a corner,
a child chews
on slivers of glass.

The leaves
when it rains
make a noise
like applause.

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