ant5

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something

dead in

the tool shed

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we are given

the gift of

a lamp shade

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later

the salt sifts

out of your cuff

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the road

to the lake quiet

except for the train

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bronze light

of early autumn

streets empty

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a patch of

sky in the clouds

you can see stars

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a ziploc bag

displayed by

a broken branch

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after

the flowers

roses

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the peaches

achieve

their ends

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