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Nov 17
No word walks with
me. I am tired like a smoke bird,
waiting for my lost love.

My future was a sin,
I will not speak of the past. When Borax
fails, I fall at the feet of my palm.

Eyes are cheap. But
response gives the empty bowl
filled by the moon last night.
Written by
Satsih Verma
  209
     Zeno, Rick, girlrinth and Jeremy Betts
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