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This Dream I Keep Having

It’s funny – when I die, there is nobody but a paid public servant, shovels dirt and then it’s done. So flat, you know? And it is snowy and he’s lonely but he won’t drop the pretense, which I respect, or I would if I, you know, were not dead – … 25 more words

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The Season Ends

It always was fictitious – every sweet and sour instant – some perfumes cloud my vision: I smoke too much and get antsy. And I keep finding my hands need just a little extra company – the gravity is jumping back and forth like camera shutters: I can’t see or feel my stomach. 78 more words

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