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Making Sense of Nothing Flying making lazy circles amongst the monolithic cedars and craggy barren rocks they swooped with cries like a baby human The gulls beaks a testament to their hunger fed on the scraps I threw them What else do they do besides eat and shit? The crows ever wary eyes look for morsels left behind as the grave robber searches for gold he does not own Out on the horizon the clouds swept in as if they had someplace to go The weather forcaster intone bad weather ahead and the salmon boats scratched for cover on the undulating ocean There was no place to hide but the squirrel knew smart creature that he is |
Additional Notes:
Inspired by someone's poem who doesn't like me.
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