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Rain

by Christopher Raley   Last night memory called me awake. 3:30 am like broad daylight.   In the livingroom rain crackled against the south facing window. I watched it streaking globe-like kingdoms   of streetlight’s twin boundaries in air and … Continue reading

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#4

by Christopher Raley   In the evening the waves had shrunk down and, like a dog’s tongue, lapped in troubled sleep. The wind died cold leaving fingers of sand tracing the pavement to where it had blown.   A car … Continue reading

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