ant5

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stuck in the shower

haze from

the burnt cake

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a terrace

of clover

silver with dew

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a smooth wave

of fog flattens

the hills

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she says it depends

on what you mean

by leak

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steam from the stove

agitates

the tiny spiders

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the long gray dusk

traps the heat

among the trees

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on a blue tin plate

the eyes of

one potato

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in her sleep

her fingers worry

at a thread

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a guy in

the bushes says

gamelan superman

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