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As I write
as I write
a moon, full, almost,
reaches across a sky
filling slowly
with a damp dawn
as I write
my spine complains
with an exquisite
spectrum of pain
the Marquis would envy
as I write
two cats play
wide eyed hunting games
with the wind
and a handful of leaves
as I write
my hand reaches
for a cigarette
in an automatic gesture
born of writing, mainly
September 15, 2000
Somerset
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