ant5

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beasts flatten

the grasses to

a dull silver

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the narcissist says

the dying woman was

glad to see her

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you wash your

pinkie to stick

in her tea

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late summer

even for

the ants

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in your niche

another

catastrophe

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tomorrow

no band

aids

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after you’re gone

we can’t help

the squirrels

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we get a few

seconds with

the gold coins

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when the crows came

you were nowhere

to be found

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from your wound

a bronze

edge

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