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waking mid-motion derailed mis-seeing twisted tree trunks for drunken suited men with washcloth faces wiping off the wasted nightscape of midnight misplaced before a caked men's room mirror wipe saliva thickened glass last night's travels grime not to see…
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It is within my nature, and many others I know, to cling to what’s consistent and certain: the battles fought in the war for survival and the organic camaraderie borne in the trenches. Sometimes the quest and the people we commiserate with along the way
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in moving cars i am small;
in moving cars i am invisible.
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