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Bus Poem

Rating: 5.0

Rheumy, achy day
planes of dull green
eclipsing dull reds
there and here scrapes of blue, a
wreathable, breathable
fog, sun shot like the
smoke from a sacrifice,
lifting itself from the street,
rifting, drifting,
turning to rain in throats,

turning in air to air, to
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7/30/2021 1:33:14 PM # 1.0.0.666