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Trash

A conduit of tears

is flailing through the past.

And as I sit and linger,

I wander toward the last

thought that crossed my mind.

These people, ever rash

don’t seem to even bother

to pickup all their trash.

And I wonder why

I look like the ass,

as I’m trying, failing

to just maintain my grasp.

A conduit of tears

is falling as I passed.

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