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Untitled may
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For Matt... (thanks for restoring my faith in the male population... o' wait... no you suck)
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If I had only known
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Devious without Malicious Intent
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Silence or something like it
Poetry Vista
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The nothing
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I could hear the cry
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Him
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Cooking
Branches
A tree that's branches touch the ground,
bend down low to a hollowing wind.
The tree that's branches grow stern and straight,
forever remain in a parolees journey to the unreachable heavens.
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