ant5

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I fail to

write a poem

about a centaur

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I drive to

the moon wind

up at home

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in the morning

near where you stood

melted wax

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excited by

the unexpected

toothpicks

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in a tent

by the center

light from a flashlight

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with light

smoke is itself

a mirror

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nothing for miles

but a chair a bit

off balance

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the last peach

leaves shudder in

the bright breeze

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a card lands

face up

ace of spades

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