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The Middle Against Sleep

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uttered the road a story,
the spoken word,
a sound
which spills a tangible window
in her doused map.
she leand against midnight,
brown hair a
silvery world:
his world,
because he was ten years
out of knowing.
behind them they are her.
the road-heavy stillness,
dark blue music
he hates.
he stops,
and leaves
and leaves
tucked in her eyes





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