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within my hearing,
and thinking himself alone,
he said
I wish I were dead.

And I didn’t man up to that.
I god damn kept my hands in my pockets
and shied away from his tortured road.

And now, in my time of life,
I see to it that things are kept clean,
most especially those hard-to-reach places.

Angels are white-winged, I think,
and brook no negligence of care.

And I don’t know where he is now,
or if he can see my compulsion to shine things.
To bring them to bright.

Or if he knows his boy is just like him.

Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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