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Feb 2014
they hold tubes of ink and can grip cumulus ends
type out the letters of sinking words I lie fallow for
they curl disdainful and wipe out tracts untainted

flakes come off the ceilings in my stretch to the sky
planes skim clouds overhead and truckers roar by
little whips to frenzy, the calm of your cyclic beauty

I exist happenstance on the indulgence of your digits.
Cripp
Written by
Cripp
691
   Debra Zebra
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