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    My daily writing--emails, journal entries, marginalia, more emails, blog posts, and tweets--shapes me as a writer, helping and hindering the big stuff I'm trying to accomplish. Every word counts.

    My name is James Black. I'm on Facebook and Twitter. Friend and/or follow me if you like.

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Spires

They stuffed their pockets
with divined words,
then, full as ticks,
took to the skies in search
of the Spires that caged
so many piggies, piggies
who rolled in their own
shit before eating it.

They ached to rip through
steel and glass and asbestos, to feel
all of it under their fingernails,
for the taste of blood.
They weren’t prepared to seep
into the rubble, the very stew they made,
while so many piggies
rose like ghosts, like
patient ghosts.

19 September 2001

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