Crossing the Tappen Zee

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Crossing the Tappen Zee,

8-10-03.

The weather recovers,

the rain dissapates.

And purple morning fires

spark on into my sightline.

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Precarious how, this exit

will haunt me. Delirious,

these days shed like

salamander skin, rough at

the edges, and smooth

underneath.

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Crossing the Tappen Zee

8-10-03.

A white car speeds by,

a white car speeds by.

The toll paid for nothing;

and Weaver Street gone.