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Mid-40’s feminist engineer talks about everything not about BPM

TTC poetry

August17

I was on the subway a few days ago and noticed one of the poetry posters that they regularly feaure. This immediately burned images on my brain, and I could smell dead leaves as if it were winter already. I quickly jotted it down in my Blackberry for later consumption, but missed the name of the poet, unfortunately.

The Hold UpStripped of leaves,
surprised –
the trees
scrape the grey winter sky
with veined brittle arms.
posted under toronto

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