Signifying nothing
Issue 57: here's an equivocator that could swear in both the scales against either scale
Friday, January 28, 2011
The doe
I walked past a dead deer today
She lay bloated, back leg snapped,
Near the busy collector route
That takes commuters home to bed
Her snout pointed skyward
And her bulging black eyes
Watched the endless flow
Of traffic that took her
Life
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