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by June 22, 2015 1 comment

The heart should hang
always
from a high wire
in the elements
ready to slip
and fall
heavy
and
final
and burst
and trampled upon
even then
unnoticed
but
for some little mess
it leaves
on the bottoms
of strange
shoes.

editors note:

Love is a no-net, high-wire act; big miss, big mess. Noticed only by janitorial staff – maybe. – mh clay

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