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Little moleskine poem note

Yesterday.   My pencil n pens         Yelled at me
       Thriving unconcious howls of wolves
I dream.                           Of
   Rolling clouds logging off at the end of a dock I realize reality is a sting
I dream
    To wake.    To really wake and blink
My eyes for which or what went a little muse that I use.        To really think.     Surrounded.   Trying to understand you have still a ground found dated instigation.    Yet still.         I around
        Files a grip.        With hot cups to sip rally riots public Portland public schools, yelling and mean I dream.      That I wake and preliminate a controversy about my anxiousness, one, the only one.                                 On earth
       Weeks…                        I assume the seem and crave more for time to let the sunny side of wet.                                     Rainy building.   Scoring guitar fret vintage delay analogous beginning
last now
past fast.                         foam

About Brian Anthony Hardie

artist, musician, and poet from Portland, Oregon.

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