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Dec 2018
Where there is love, but there is no passion
There is a hearth that has gone ashen.
It is a sleep where there is no dreaming
Day will break, but there is no gleaming,
A familiar dish, lacking in heat,
A well-known dance, lacking in beat,
A complex wine sans maturation,
A photograph sans saturation.
Subconscious on Parade
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       Simpleton, Fawn and Carrie Crusoe
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