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   Gin's pincers 
   Held his hand 
   Steady enough 
   For him to grip 
   The litter her lips 
   Scattered on 
   His wheelchair. 

   Alone in his double locked room, 
   He hoped there was 
   No way out, for if 
   He went outside 
   He would find her, 
   Her high cheek bonds 
   Being kissed 
   By old bells and young men. 

- Duane Locke

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