By Ian Parker
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Where is it you have gone?I have been reeling in the hours
as the minutes approach the dawn.
Tears go off like a bomb,
leaving me in emotional drought
as the seconds approach the dawn.
My legs have etched in the lawn
a path of retreaded doubt —
where is it you have gone?
Leave me to carrion,
the remains of me without
where it is that you’ve gone
as the sun retreats from dawn.
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