LOIS MICHAL UNGER : Broken Slats
DAVID BARNES : The Carpenter
STEPHANIE PACHECO : Ruin
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Broken Slats The Carpenter Ruin  
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LOIS MICHAL UNGER
Broken Slats
Broken slats across the way hiding what broken dreams what broken conquests an old man getting up at 4 a.m. waking me with the clatter of his walker I know nothing about him just that I peek at him thru the slats at 4 a.m. clattering down the street
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Broken Slats The Carpenter Ruin  
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DAVID BARNES
The Carpenter
The truth of it: he looks on softened palms these days, no longer calloused ... calloused hands, which once shaped, planed the rich surface of a life cut down, fashioned, carved into an intricate corner cabinet, hanging somewhere. Against the shed wall, Queen Anne stands incomplete, naked, awaiting her finale; and he knows that someone else will have to dress her. He sees yesteryears. Blackened bloodstains, scars embedded in the worn workbench: where carved barley twists lie half finished. The truth of it: glue clamps and nails do not gather here anymore, his tools lie idle. All that remains is the fragrance of wood; the memory of calloused hands.
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Broken Slats The Carpenter Ruin  
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STEPHANIE PACHECO
Ruin
The many ways you ruin my life. Wet pavement must touch new clothes. I wish, I wish, I cannot sleep anymore. Your hand, not to touch mine. love is away on a long vacation. Oh, everyone adores you! Everyone wants a piece of you. Something I wished for but never got. Escape from you. I love you how a blind woman loves touch I must be the joke of the town. I've never been near you. My dear, I would probably die. My existing love makes me weak. In my trance of sickness you are the only thing that makes sense. These horrible years These tormented days, you'll be the cause of my death. What a small price to pay for love that was never meant.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.07: 075
LOIS MICHAL UNGER : Broken Slats
DAVID BARNES : The Carpenter
STEPHANIE PACHECO : Ruin

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