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Poetry: Curtains 

Houses war to keep
what happens in them
from suck and blanch
of time. This much I know,
but what’s the meaning
of my homeyness in them,
places I couldn’t have been,
lives I couldn’t have lived?
Torn curtains blowing
from blasted houses stop
my breath and remind me
of what I couldn’t have felt
or thought or done.

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