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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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