ant5

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withered grasses

stirred up by the wind

turn gold in the air

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a cerulean pause

in the recording

of the day

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the property

so big you

never see anyone

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desperate flies

of August plague

the back of my neck

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even though

they’re over fed

the goats butt heads

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bronze grasses

don’t count

the sunflowers

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the bronze grasses

see for

yourself

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you button

the button that hides

your scar

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it talks

to you with bees

sunflower

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