ant5

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a divot in

the paper made

by a grain of salt

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it’s your own

fault looking

for witches

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this year

skipping

ribbons

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undulations

contained by

petty bureaucrats

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please

don’t play

the monster game

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the snoring dog

sounds just like

a mourning dove

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time for a comma

days after solstice

still dark

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rejecting each

grain of salt

ant passing through

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nine of clubs

wet and face up

in my parking space

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suddenly

behind the bed

beetle

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