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Thursday, January 17

post appocalypse

too patches of gas
spread a mirage on the black
yellow, red, green,
a blue sky in between
each feather's filter
a duck and a duck duck duck dither
where now the ice is stocked
and ten dollars, frozen in spot
they flock and they bop
and I sit and I watch
my feet drawn to the top
where water and time are not



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