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A quiet green, a cup of coffee (re-usable cups only), on a Tuesday
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Water-logged Part 2
In the back of my head. Words trickle, Trickle out. A poem I can’t remember Formed of words I can’t forget The way stones know their wet, But know nothing at all. The words, like water Rushing over the rocks Taking tiny fragments of me. With them. Somewhere else, Eroding, Erupting, An inopportune moment I…
