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These People

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you have seen them, these people who congregate
at internet cafes,
with journals too pretty
to write in.

their eyes, their eyes
look at the world
through the eyes of the greats--
not like it's meant to be seen.

they strive for precise obscurity,
so you don't know why they feel.

they rhapsodize on the blue of the sky,
upon the rose of a cheek,
upon perfection,
but can they tell me of the heart?



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