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Created on: November 08, 2009
Two strangers walk the same line
to the bus stop at six-thirty.
Five days a week they stumble,
over each others presence.
The sound of nothing puts holes in their spines,
Their retinae reach for the concrete walk-
A reflex failing to hide their embarrassment.
In interest of homeostasis
Their voice boxes activate,
Without help from the brain
Or the heart.
Both feel so obligated to talk that nothing ever gets said.
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