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a poem by
Alison Eastley
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If you've ever wondered about drawing
a line in the sand

you'd realise
nothing is permanent and if nothing

is permanent we can forget sick
skin perspires profusely

when one person searches for a pulse
and the other

can't remember what happened.
Fear replaces fact.

Names become empty spaces
and faces are washed away

except this time it's not a deliberate
overdose of meditation

or morphine. There's a difference
between royal buddha blue

and the blue
of suddenly dying on a Thursday

night. It could have been much worse
A month ago,

we lived apart and now
this breathing

and not breathing has changed
the memory of that.

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