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i don't know why thinking about death should keep you awake

poets throughout history have compared sleep and death remarked upon their likeness

it should be just the opposite thinking about death should make you drowsy

what is that nervous urgency that subjunctive moodiness that flashes when we think of the end

why did i tell him / her to fuck off when goodbye would have been enough

or worse why didn't i throw him down the stairs when i had the chance



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six birds fly the form of freckles near your mouth i knew that you were the face of god that the sky was there for reading

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god told me to get a haircut i was looking for my haiku about winter i dream i am already at work between the cars of the train a single flake of snow i have to write some of this shit down

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i want to taste the female flavoring in your skin in your mouth to begin writing place the tip of the pencil at the top left corner of the page the last time i got my hair cut my mother was alive