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Sometimes, not sometimes

I imagine myself living an entirely different life

And still thinking about the same thing

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Where I was born was a planet Round as an orange As I sit in front of a rectangular window Staring into the flurry of sunlight Pouring Over white tiles of squares I hear a cat purring at me In its gin

My pen is laced with the sound of birds chirping in the moist air of March. Sitting on a bench in my made-in-China and Japanese-designed sweater, I feel like a troubled monk. All my senses are still f

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