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21 as war Goes on olive trees do not apologize. dusty, their uniforms drop piece by piece splattering the sidewalk. no one can eat such fruit without curing it in lye. Brine. oceans. eyes. overflowing. paper beaten from sweatstained camouflage shed by men ready to be seen, to speak. from the fountain fresh waters. vets beat to a pulp loosened fibers, spread onto screens the mash of their lives. soldiers so young they’ve yet to bear fruit, veterans so old their roots tangle, tap rivers underground. 22 on the paper we make of our lives, what shall we write? fOr phIl, harI, drew & all Makers Of syMbOlIc paper www.Ivaw.Org ...

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