ant5

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your blind spot

little birds waiting

for grain to spill

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grain dust

powders the dew

on my moustache

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more and more

these days

new kinds of clouds

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along with

the sudden wind

ghost dogs

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ice

you turn it

into an activity

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dew reduced

to pebbles of

ice

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that fold

has always been

in the paper

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you screwed

up my tab

button

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winter retreats

to the hills

above the valley

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no more than

fifteen minutes

twice a day

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