Tired Coat
by Linda Ceriello

September 1, 2009

I wrote this out:
"A tired old coat made its way from the closet. It said, 'How many symbols do you need, stacked up like an open guillotine? how careful, slow and old decrepit bent and always singing songs of death?' "Always singing songs of praise not equal to your ancient tattered well-considered, stitched up ways," I sang, in brightest tones. The coat heaved a sigh and got in line while I prepared another rhyme.

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