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The odd verse
grey blue haze
long jagged fingers of some near dead wizard sway
in the whistling futility
of winter’s spring offensive
on a mid march saturday
yet amazed
determined children trudge on in the work of play
on the cold wet brownish green
of any suburban lawn
on a mid march saturday
outward gaze
harbingers of what’s coming and going away
in the stagnant certainty
of backdoor mats and air vents
on a mid march saturday
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Emo vampires are stupid.
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