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Noa Swanson Poem
The fingernail left of the sun is being slowly consumed
Into hate
Blinded by a sunblissed day, stay away
Running, run run run run run
Walk stay still
Like a flower, wilting, slowly dying
Not no bee, flying, starting to live
Lost, she left, lost, she left
I am feasting on turkey while you sit, with a singular pea
Sitting still, waiting, to get an urge of inspiration
Bear, she says, BEAR
Copyright © Noa Swanson | Year Posted 2024
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