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Greyson Sweetbrook 7

Updated on May 5, 2016


In the evening, my thoughts roam,

cats in search of a mouse, a molly,

a confused iris blooming in the moonlight

(if that’s what you were)

and I wandered, and I wandered,

never accepting anything less than

a foot beyond the edge that

the dream suggested

even if it was just a feeling, a hunch, a sense

of things responsible for the quivering

want that was only answerable by



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