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Rich Furman
Mother's day
wired, lonely
people, all these people
make it worse. Not that I
miss mine. But her.
the dog's mother, my sort of wife, sort of
ex-wife.
she is eating dinner now,
with her mother,
thinking about the children,
we never had.
at least I imagine so.
such wishes are
the fools gold for
the bank of my soul.
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