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November 17, 2014

we are sketched
from nothing
with a burnt stick

we are harvested
from the fields
with a blunt scythe

we are cut
from a bush
long dry

we are not all pulling on the same cord
we are not all opening the same curtain
we are not all watching the same show

we are scooped
from the pond
and poured recklessly into broken cups

we are messages
received in error
that should be deleted without reading

we are shouts
from hidden positions, carefully chosen

we are not all beating the same carpet
we are not all breathing the same dust
we are not all drifting on the same curling wave

we are daubed
on the walls
that keep out the barbarians

we are hung
out to dry
in the drizzle

we are left
to our own

we are not all sweeping the same stables
we are not all watering the same horse
we are not all cantering to the same battered rhythm

we are willing
even if
not able

we are bound
by stories

we are doing
what we can.

we are doing
what we can

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