-
“your clavicle is the horizon
I always swim towards...
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There's earthquakes between my
eyes and I can't even knock...
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We are somewhere
between the days before...
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Theres a penquin in my sandwich box
he's wearing bright green socks...
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winter begets silence as the sparrows
struggle for warmth, the slowly-dying...
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…the stand mixer broke a while back, so
we resort to kneading the dough by hand...
-
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Bridges from reality to my mind
have been crashing...
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There is no right or wrong decision.
There are no idiots nor brilliance...
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A door left open
Might only be an invite...
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You always had me
scratching at the dirt...
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It snowed tonight, and though
we had plenty of warning...
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I row my teaspoon through my coffee
mulling over water that has passed...