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It is time to destroy my
diaries. I rip the covers off and shred years of paper.
I am giving up my
role as policeman of our life. No longer can I point to my
words and say "you said in April of 1985."
My words "our relationship
is like a rotting corpse" now keep the
moisture in the soil around our pumpkins.
silver snail trails
over my paper mountain