I skimmed 1,000 car grills and
trolled infinitely along the lines of conversations
And I don't find it difficult to write
poems and I don't wrestle with its
ease. I duly cringe at my own
outpourings and swallow the
residual drifting feelings.
I studied the topography of my
mother's scalp through the strands
of her fleeting hair and I felt fourth
grade in a nutshell
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