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...And then, I was just an inkspot
as a poet waiting to be woke
behind a veil of life's paintbrush  
through the avenues I wandered
over cobblestones I toke  
until the quirleys became words
letting my emotions flow
through the rapids of my soul
as my shadow stood idly by
fasting twilight hungering thirst  
in a game of my crazy house blend  
as my words became smoke  



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