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Click hereA pattern is all you left
An indentation in my habits
Meant to snow me,
I continue the flow of daily motion
My arms wave as you sign goodbye
From the backside of memory
To front is desolate destiny
So many Inuit words for a single thing
Say some,
Name one
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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A word he used in this piece — desolate — sums up the feeling that unfolds.