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Michael
Poems
May 2018
Visage
Imaginary people,
riding imaginary lines.
With infinite ends,
and finite time.
Involuntary measures
take place in their lungs.
Locusts burrow deep,
each breath is a hum.
A cadence of cicadas
behind every word.
This truth will save us:
No truth have you heard.
Written by
Michael
25/M
(25/M)
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suzanne
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Micrography-Mike D
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