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The One I Forgot
That which has No Life
The thread slips through my fingers so easily now,
I do not think to tie a knot.
The weft and warp are out of sort,
and the draft has been made rough. 
Those words I might have forgot, 
but the permutations stay the same, 
I cannot regret.

Only despair to fit in my thimble and a slip,
through my fingers I might forget.
The dovetails and the darts,
slip through my fingers so easily now.
I am a point turner in bewteen deftly trained fingers
and I will not poke holes where they do not make.
I am a pin tuck under your bleeding lapel. 

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