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		<title>Marcus  | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/Left-In-Transit</link>
		<description>The original writings of author Marcus </description>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>1776267014</lastBuildDate>
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		<ttl>15</ttl>
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			<title>Conscription and Boyhood</title>
			<description>The coarse green fatigues etches away at me, cracking and burning my skin. The hands I once so warmly held are replaced with the cold sternness of pistol grips. Every shot of my gun whipsme into form, chipping away the soft ends of me. They hammer hardas the army sculptures anoth..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Left-In-Transit/1887169/</link>
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			<title>Beneath</title>
			<description>I recall warmth and innocenceseeing that little corner&amp;nbsp;still and sheltered&amp;nbsp;As if I'd&amp;nbsp;fallen back&amp;nbsp;to the bristle of a newborn&amp;nbsp;against his mother's breast.Hands were held and kissed.There was the trickle of salt air, and&amp;nbsp;a calm that shouldn't have been&amp;nbsp;Forgotten.Some..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Left-In-Transit/1784381/</link>
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			<title>Grey Walls </title>
			<description>You stare at me&amp;nbsp;alone in an empty warehouse&amp;nbsp;working on the facethat keeps you from sleep.&amp;nbsp;It came to a pointwhere you scraped your brows with razors,&amp;nbsp;leaving blood like a smirk,and whispered to these grey walls&amp;nbsp;that no one could touch you.&amp;nbsp;When you thought of them&amp;nbsp;..</description>
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			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Left-In-Transit/1784374/</link>
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