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Questions for the Dead: Poems (new poetry, #2) by
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L7xm
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One night you reach for a pen and then you can’t remember what you picked it up for,like entering a room only to find Purpose unable to cross the threshold with you—You wait, uncertain, on the other side until it finds you again. Does it comfort you to know my words are as unsteady as your hand?
— Mar 25, 2022 11:27AM
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