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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


 Suddenly frantic, I found myself tearing off the blue rubber gloves, incensed at the futility of being  gowned and gloved, and your death staring me straight in the eyes regardless. I was damned if the last touch you were going to feel on your brow would be a synthetically clad hand. I could at least smooth your hair back with my actual skin, warm - hopefully soothing; I knew I was doing it as much for me as for you but it seemed so important then.

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