Distorted Reflections
Poetry
Poetry
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She Was as Tall as the EiffelOn the journey back,riding on a lonely trackbeat-up.My memories of youare packed deep insidea sack.I never knew your mouthor your soil. I neverknew your fingering.Begginglonely men you beggedme, and I gave yousomething then.I can't rememberwhich or whator when.Or if it wassomething I once sent.But is it time?You left themabruptly.And is it true aboutthe merchant?15
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