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April 3, 2013

 

 

T’is not to question why,

when vicious teeth, grind up

the evidence of mass deceit.

 

T’is not to wonder what that bin

contains, amongst shredded strips

where nonsense now remains?

 

T’is not to dwell on hell in

printed form. Scars papered

over never beat a storm.

 

T’is not to piece together

from the past, a love now lost,

that never was to last.

 

 

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