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by on Jan 6, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

110 WORDS The trees are alive with possums, mice, rats. I’m sure of it. Out on their night hunt, you tell me. I shiver. You are still, at ease. Doors, passages, you say, they’re everywhere. Where are we, I ask. The darkness answers in your voice, Are you sure we are? I am quiet, used to...

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