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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

My Year in Pictures

somehow the best day ever
one third into the Christie novel
to talk about each stranded in turn
around our necks this genre
rough-housing for lost time
a kid who runs crying
at the school assembly
may be my brother
then, i never smiled
to the tiny red lights
to a room of blurs
we hold up the monument
to see the inscription
void of all hope of recovery


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