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This poem was published a year ago in Transition magazine.
The foul stench of familiar sweat
on haggard skin, face the colour
of a thundering sky, small teeth falling
from a shattered mouth.
When it was only angry words
forgiveness was simple, the promise
Then, just as the steady shuffle
of the devout will wear down
the stone steps to an altar
habit replaced faith,
The teeth only bounce once
when they hit the floor.