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Jan 2021
The fog scatters the light and my thoughts.
Dissembling what I deigned to build.
Through the mists, a mass of mountain,
and what do I amass, a man?
Sometimes trickle, sometimes fountain,
Alas, and I without a dam.
Travis Kroeker
Written by
Travis Kroeker  31/New York
(31/New York)   
32
 
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