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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published
you think crows in the park want to be in this poem but the words for them in your mind fall out of your pockets and these are the flowers that grew in the bed where Marilyn Monroe died, try to love them you think little old ladies out walking their dogs couldn’t be writing a better poem than this but you’re still grateful for the other minds that words fall into, kids still ride sunshine bicycles there you think flowers asleep in your mind are going to wake up today and smile thinking back to little old ladies in poems that Marilyn Monroe never got to read in a bed where flowers drag kids out of their dreams crows steal better poems from other pockets
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