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Remainder

by Dan Schultz

Ten sweaty fingers, once interlocked, have slipped a fisherman's knot.
Now, overcast by cloud nine, my dreary days become
infinitely glum, like an 8 staying in bed
seven days a week, squinting at dawns
on a horizon six feet deep
of snowless peaks pointing V
at our forgotten dreams,
as I try
to live
alone.


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