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In cities not our own
by t. wagner

Late at night, along wet streets
away from bright lights
with backs turned and collars turned up

we click our heels and blow smoke
toward the sky

looking for a sign
that's not coming,
from a heaven closed for the night

in hotels that are uncrowded
with friends uninvited,
in cities, not our own

Words May Go (Quill and Parchment Press)  

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