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…create. Impatient
that I won’t pay attention
when I’m writing stuff.
Flat mapped names turn in-
to forested hills, roads wind
towards adventure.
Listserv fight breaks out.
Among civil people, the
retorts well-researched.
Directed at me
all day it follows me from
room to room in heat.
And so summer goes
like fishing line cast into
swift moving waters



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