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J. Martin Dean

TWO STEPS FORWARD, ONE STEP BACK– I

Dead Dog Parish whenever

I
 
Wanting anything—
        What a curse.
I take the simplest of shelter,
       revisit proven feeding grounds,
       do what my organs demand.
       I talk less and less—
               It’s a lonely life.
 
My hands don’t touch glass, metal.
 
There is a place where Love presides,
       your lies just won’t cut it.

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