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Cerce
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Surface Area
the rain always seems to come at the opportune moment to start again.
after so many “one of these days,” came and went,
the feeling of looking at your ground drenched in downpour
omnipotent gaze through the screen door.
a dejected pile of your recent pasts, last middle-of-street collapse
rushing over the mound in the middle of the concrete
washed down opposing gutters on the edge of the street.
making their way to drains at the bottom of the hill
emptying everything but you and yourself.
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