Jenkins Street Poetry Project
A collection of original poems by Don Stinson
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
As a Bone
I’d never say it doesn’t matter;
I’d never tell that lie.
You’d know the awful truth,
That my memory stutters
Every time I’m near reality
And then I’ll say anything
To make the past retract
And give me back my conscience
Clean and white as a bone
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