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		<title>h d e rushin | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/drushin703</link>
		<description>The original writings of author h d e rushin</description>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>I'm going to start this poem a little differently.</title>
			<description>for RG</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/3123499/</link>
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			<title>Aptos </title>
			<description>Watching Sis put Preparation 8 under her eyes,&quot;it works on all swollen tissue, she says&quot;.&quot;This is not a good time for poems&quot;, she tells me.Poems, I remind her, are not the journalswe kept the crumpled, hippo weightsto hold down yesterday's love notes.Or the muestrame tus bragas&quot;show me your panties&quot;..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2962936/</link>
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			<title>Let me tell you about the night I took Viagra and the world turned blue.</title>
			<description>Blue sky.Blue fish.Blue flower.Dutch Iris (blue)Blue eye.Pinetop Perkin's blue lapels.Blue, sometimescalled by other names.The blue you box inwith crayons on whiteboards.Blue dress.Degas' angelsdancing to the blues.Oh,and before I forget.Blue balls!</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2957198/</link>
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			<title>this document has been examined by me and its contents are true to the best of my belief </title>
			<description>Somewhereaflag will be flown, half-staff, for Hulk Hogan.My sistertexted me at 02:12am to tell me hercat has died.I cry uncontrollably.I've fallen in love withsomething that has neverspoken to me tenderly.In Novemberwe shared an August moon together.&amp;nbsp;Just me and him being true. Neitherone of us..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2954365/</link>
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			<title>In the tall green grass. </title>
			<description>Just thinking.Dad's been bone sine 94. Is hebut bones and Silhueta now?Has mistrust pulled tightaround his skull, gnashing at truthwith those Liberace teeth.Could it be, in the future, our selves,reborn to flesh like worsted woven weft threads:Schoolteacher, day laborer, quasi farmer who hated the l..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2953558/</link>
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			<title>femdom</title>
			<description>There used to be this toy, &quot;Silly Puddy&quot; that came to me in a plastic shell shaped like an egg.You could take it out and place it against the written word and make an imageOr squeeze it tightlike a thigh and make a man (a mistaken one) with a slim waistline and a flat, military belly. Oryou could pu..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2953382/</link>
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			<title>triangular inlet</title>
			<description>more people trust poems than prayers!</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2909363/</link>
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			<title>from hot comb to him.</title>
			<description>I visited my friend Rachael whose husband left her for a youngerthinner woman.Oh, wondrous and unsurpassable felicity is/ Shehad slept on her face and her afro was flattenedon one side; I can't, the ancestors saywithout a pick before heartache. Sothat's why 'Blue Magic' hair greasewas left on the st..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2909246/</link>
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			<title>Short-</title>
			<description>I wrote a poemabout a short dream I had;Short peoplewith short hair cuts,with short tempersSome in short pants(which I care little aboutconsidering the scars I carryfrom the monkey-bars inthe late 70s). Ido believe that&amp;nbsp;during evolutionwe scarfed on insectsand larvae, then withour stomachs achi..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2906992/</link>
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			<title>OK, this is my obligatory Emmit Till Poem. </title>
			<description>A dated a white girl in the 90's.she used to paint her toenails purple.Which wasn't enough for me not to love her.I needed reasons.So I thought of Emmit Till saying&quot;hey baby&quot; to a white woman in Mississippi in 55.I'm disappointed by WW2.&amp;nbsp;Knowing that a single squadron of B2 Stealth Bomberswould..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2902839/</link>
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			<title>Eulogy  </title>
			<description>for Lawrence Lee. </description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2895467/</link>
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			<title>&quot;When Michel'le did the splits after just one wine cooler&quot;</title>
			<description>it doesn't matter now, the record. James Brown, I think,or Rick James before he started 'using'. Likeit really doesn't matter the direction the wind comes in a tornado in Tennessee.Or that mice could probably be tolerated if they didn't run. iwas grown, sitting down staring at chitlin's being devour..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2895448/</link>
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			<title>&quot;Mispossessed&quot;</title>
			<description>on the platform at Auschwitz,after the wooden doors of the cattle cars slammed shutand the single bucket&amp;nbsp; used as a toilet, let it's stink go.I imagine there was relief.Standing up for three days straight and I can't stand upfor a good two minutes without resting my elbows on the sinkor letting..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2886595/</link>
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			<title>Sexy-witch-flowers.</title>
			<description>Of course I cried at your wedding.You'de of been so proud. Untilthey drug me out for makingthat sound. You know the onewhere your yellow lip overlapsyour teeth in that single misoneism ofdream-scape and bitterness. Butbrief, happiness is, in thatcontempt of personhood/ so nowyou're kissing someone e..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2885947/</link>
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			<title>Along the course of. </title>
			<description>Iuse to be able to hear better than thisbut for the neighbor in the upper who had to vacuum at odd hours;before Dollar Tree went to $1.25 on everything. Each nightthe store manager would show my mother the scars fromwhere she fought. Patiently mother listened to theharrowing tales. Beloved, some of ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2801611/</link>
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			<title>Prelude to the Afternoon of My Devorce. </title>
			<description>for donna.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2800928/</link>
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			<title>Stead: in the phrase at night.</title>
			<description>My sister saidthe doctor was just dead wrongabout her weight loss. (and i'mwondering if I can even mentionsuch a thing in a poem?) But why not?Poetry skims truth away from lifesince we are all so besieged byhurt anyways. May as welluse secrecy as a sort of sorcery.Like leaves that exist in thin laye..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2800735/</link>
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			<title>let</title>
			<description>Ijustwanttobe inloveandhappy.notconfused.nothurt.notstressed.justhappy.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2789087/</link>
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			<title>at Rod's gun shop.</title>
			<description>At the gun shop because of my need to kill.But I would rather everything live into the sweet future.My heart, the molten material in a reverberator.A shotgunwith buckshot that tears through an invader? Oran AR-15 cute and green with a strap like a guitarto sling from my great burden. Recalling &quot;Drag..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2788699/</link>
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			<title>Gorilla Pig.</title>
			<description>sometimes poetry just happens when we least expect it. </description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2787774/</link>
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			<title>9-12 2001</title>
			<description>&quot;After great pain a formal feeling comes&quot;  ,   Dickinson.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2787235/</link>
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			<title>recriminative </title>
			<description>for angel.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2786608/</link>
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			<title>fable</title>
			<description>it's not like Nana hadn't already predictedthe ends times in 68 when the walls of the well collapsed&amp;nbsp;and the once crystal clear 'dippers' were like a goblet of rose water left in the sun.Or that Georgia share croppers had to teach former Nazi POW'S&amp;nbsp; how to farm.But let's forgive. InFannie ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2786387/</link>
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			<title>Monumentum</title>
			<description>if in retrospect we find out that mask wearing didn't do s**t or from the very beginning weren't helpful, or that they were just the tools of some elaborate&amp;nbsp; hoax or grander conspiracy. And if I come to find out that I really am one of those&amp;nbsp; sheeple the antivaxers rail about. I'll still s..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2785021/</link>
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			<title>joi</title>
			<description>It's true&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;half of us have waited for someone who wouldn't return.Reciting&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; how you would never let that happen again.letting well enough alone&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; how this time would be different.Thi..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2783963/</link>
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			<title>on being disconnected.</title>
			<description>this morningwhile vacuuming the writing room, I found a Christmas ornament behind the couch cushion. Still attached to the silver life line of genetics and imposed culture that the metal of it's short life hung from. I can hardly wait to use it again, or it me spinning, capacitated,superfluous, tran..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2783636/</link>
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			<title>Ina. fr</title>
			<description>when you kiss someone and it is dark.&amp;nbsp; it is also dark inside your mouth. teeth, the old folks say, shift all the timeto their lowest point. a root canal? the troth no good tongue dare sink to. a cavity; the crevices of small spaces. liketime perhaps or the way a TIC TAC turns your insides into..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2783405/</link>
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			<title>atlas grid</title>
			<description>I was born in the last part ofthe last century in the last millennium. I am alive in the first quarter of this century in this current millenniumand still feel accomplished. After all what greater craft,what more perfect poem than that of survival?Live my friends.&amp;nbsp;It is the only revenge.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2778777/</link>
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			<title>Velvet</title>
			<description>the last I saw of itwas in Dad's casket, plush belowhis head they shaved, piled flatand puckered his lips to smilewith plastic filler and velum.&amp;nbsp;Where has all the velvet ofthe world gone? The close,furry hides of animalslone gone on to hibernation,or the faux smoothing tapestry ofsingle threads..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2776450/</link>
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			<title>when the log in the stream catches love, someone has to get wet to release it.</title>
			<description>Love, love, lovelove, love, love,love, love, love,love, love, love,love, love, love,love, love, love,love, love, love,&amp;nbsp;love, love, love,forever love.More love. love,love, love,love, love,love, love,love.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2775850/</link>
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			<title>at the coed gym.</title>
			<description>&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;you can be pretty around the&amp;nbsp; menbut not too fancy.nice legs but never a flat but.pleasant face, but not a long nose.then you're a witch.nice smile but no missing teeth.no stretch marks.no cellulite. no crepey skin.no Turkey&amp;nbsp;neck.&amp;nbsp;Exfoliated and hydrated.NO underarm saggin..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2775303/</link>
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			<title>death and poems are a kind of lying.</title>
			<description>so i'm dead and wouldn't you know it, all these strange sounds?&amp;nbsp;Some with tobacco breath, some drawing in drinklike I could C a little child's charm.I heard they didn't know me, deeply, wrong again,superimposed, sitting on a stairway to Gaza , being full ofliberationwith a bowl of maple leaves,..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2775301/</link>
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			<title>rich ore.</title>
			<description>for Pauline.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2772944/</link>
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			<title>attached to the players wrist</title>
			<description>for bearings and objects known and unknown.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2772109/</link>
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			<title>sift between what's left.</title>
			<description>someone I lovedwanted their root beer, no ice.Between what proceeds and follows,I am stronger now, I swear,&amp;nbsp; than before.Yet there are still those moments.But like any good guppyI blamed my morbid fearon the sea.&amp;nbsp;How the waves crafted it's own trutharound my thighs. It was me, I thoughtres..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2771670/</link>
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			<title>I've.</title>
			<description>when you finally realize that you've lost  a year of your life.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2771048/</link>
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			<title>review</title>
			<description>when I review a poem i'm having a conversation with myself.i will bring up personal experiences from my own awful life,interspersed with the heartfelt&amp;nbsp; story your telling me. i'm not doingthis to make the poem, your poem, anyone's poem, about me orto take away from your own experience. Actually..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2770863/</link>
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			<title>September 27, 1980</title>
			<description>Marvin Hagler vs. Alan Minter</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2769404/</link>
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			<title>@</title>
			<description>When you died,me and Curtis hurried to your bedside andresentfully waited until you grew cold and uncomfortable.Until your eyelids stayed down ontheir own likesqueezed out Sun Kist juice boxes.That after several hourshad decided to turn you spring colors,carefully plodding yourpours for the second r..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2769037/</link>
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			<title>Arc</title>
			<description>No,not the papyrus cradle of Noah. Not the aggregate assault of all the animals in the kingdom. Not heavenwhere dad is in his shirt sleeve's or Janae releasing to her province beauty and ceremony. Not the prism of apowdered sky under the &quot;rainbow covenant&quot; where an old man cyphers and counts like sl..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2767099/</link>
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			<title>tell me when the line your seeing becomes clearer.</title>
			<description>If I see another trans girl on 6 Mile and Woodwardflagging down cars in the cold to exhaustion trying to one:be vulnerable and 2: needing to squeeze a 10with their faux Louboutin sling slung over their shouldersinto their stretch jeans with one acrylic nail missingfrom a hand half frozen in song and..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2764858/</link>
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			<title>My Grandfathers love letter</title>
			<description>Were I you and you a morsel of me, since we,they say, have the same shoulders andwhose wounded spoils cling to memoryas if it too could come close enough totouch.&amp;nbsp;If I could tell you how Grandma didn't want lifeafter you had lived yours. How those last dayswere just a nodding beast of wrinkled ..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2764478/</link>
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			<title>political-maquiladora</title>
			<description>a fee for the peddle of bullshit!</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2764420/</link>
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			<title>&quot;try me&quot;</title>
			<description>Donna says,&quot;but not for friends request she would bealone&quot;. And i'm crying whilei'm writing this. You seewe've given over all that's left of us.&amp;nbsp;We hold our own hands. Jack offin the towels of our own s**t mavens.&amp;nbsp;Stop dana! No, don't stop. I think my Godthe one I love more than me,eats ch..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2764006/</link>
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			<title>ants/further/easy</title>
			<description>In my twentiesI would go to my friend Audrey's&amp;nbsp;flatwho had loved someone butwho needed now to be uncurledfrom her pajama bottoms and sorrow.And I would tell herthat all experience is a kind of diversion (sic) andthat there would be others more deserving/.That even ants in their darkened kingdom..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2763063/</link>
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			<title>After becoming the 24-7 caregiver for my old mother.</title>
			<description>What we really needis a wider and shorter plates of Nacho's.No more tall towers of chipsand toppings.Spread the toppings acrossa large area and cover all the chipsnot just the top layer.&amp;nbsp;</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2762653/</link>
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			<title>I'd</title>
			<description>to undergo.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2761271/</link>
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			<title>when the poem writes itself.</title>
			<description>The plot of every Hallmark movie is about a career woman who is far too busy for lovebut she has to move to a small Midwestern town where a handsome bachelorteaches her about the true spirit of the Holidays. It starts snowing and they kiss.&amp;nbsp;There is also a dog.&amp;nbsp;</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2758594/</link>
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			<title>ode to election day</title>
			<description>thank you Nana for making those hurtleberry sounds.</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2489286/</link>
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			<title>We have to move within our confines, even though it's intolerable.</title>
			<description>Anypoemwrittenwithout&amp;nbsp;peoplein it,isa&amp;nbsp;RANT!</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/drushin703/2488768/</link>
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