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Poems

The Unborn

11 January 2013

4:00 AM

11 January 2013

4:00 AM

mooch about and waste time
starting things they’ll never
finish. The next world
is nothing to them but shadows,
some don’t have patience
for any of that crap at all –




What, grass, they say, waving
their wobbly arms, You mean
you actually believe in grass?

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