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No Room 
(Poem To Clayton Patterson) 

Some hapless creature,  
was murdered at four this morning 
I heard 
it flash orange  
across the sky 
as the screams 
echoed widely 
over the first arch of Dawn, 
and I understood, 
it was already too late. 

Even so, 
out of respect, 
I would have collected the bones, 
and put flowers over the eyes, 
but they never would have fit in my basket  
you remember the one, 
I made for my dreams,  
woven from the threads of unexplainable beauty, 
I found being neglected in the middle of night, 
way back in the days,  
when I roamed free, 
and could see in the dark, 
and could live on my own blood.
 
Ah, but things change, don’t they Clayton? 
I need that basket myself now, 
for somewhere to put the mess,  
the one I can’t clean, 
since I don’t take Coke anymore. 
why, I haven’t even dusted my piano since the old cat died, 

But in my defense, 
it might not be unfair to ask, 
“How could I be expected 
to take a chance  
on tossing something 
He may have touched 
and in this way, 
made sacred?” 

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