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7.315
13.xi.26
poem
for the day after tomorrow
here I am gone again
contradicting myself just to say
up in the air right now so to speak
or why bother?
the present is continuous
anything else contiguous
a waste of … that’s what I’ve been working on
all this time
I am fucking with time
it takes me
I haven’t written a word of this yet
but that was all long ago
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