poetry

briefly

they’d found a woman
tied, and burned
left, fetal, in the gravel
by the train tracks
north, a state or two
she used to live–
somewhere near here
in one of these
gray-shingle, red-brick towns
but I don’t remember
which town
she was from
and I don’t recall
her name
though I’d read it
in the inky-finger
newsprint
I’d known it, once–
briefly

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Eric

I've come to write.

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