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Justin S Wampler
Poems
Mar 2023
Flocused
An old name is sighed
from the knotted cherry sky
and goes misheard.
A game, a plot, a house fly
span the attenuating divide
between what's been learned.
Whisper thy name,
perhaps once again,
and I'll pay attention this time.
Written by
Justin S Wampler
30/M
(30/M)
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