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Everything is improving your writing.
Existence is, I think, yellow pine.
I could sit. I could write the answers.
Learn to get small, heart and soul,
Shifting, imperfect—Gosh!
I am standing, counting the days.
Round about ten, I’m verging.
What vessel slips through yesterday—
Summertime Lantern Gazelle—
to that woman—
you, you, you!

Friday morning, it was fairy tales.
We sent dips, lips, pips, quips,
periphery poem scene
eating & releasing.

I will introduce myself as lonely dry lake.
What is a mountain?
Clarice? Valerie?
Like her sifts and settles,
my worst, reckless aphorisms fill the space.
So much happens in a day!
I get peeved life has only one blossoming,
and this insensitivity.

The embrace—
if I embrace Daniel in love and burn when observed,

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