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Jan 2016
a trail of ink spills  
past lanterns & statues
on the bridge.
orange flares streak across
your glasses; it is true night now.
if truth is forgotten, who
will weave our amnesia?
not I, or you, nor the one
whose fiction we follow
into the forgotten works.
Frederick Moe
Written by
Frederick Moe  Mother Earth
(Mother Earth)   
405
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