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Thursday, June 23

the gray mornings

inculcate a sonnet
or at least a tiny fly, crashing into the floor,
maybe hungry, maybe brine got
in all of those eyes, or one big eye,
not that it matters, but its a clerical issue
which must be resolved whether
one big eye with lots of balls or one big ball with lots of eyes. . .
now everyone is confused as to whether the reason is none of these.

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