WEBVTT

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This poem is called
Life Like Coyote.

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I bit into that gale of
steam, that clipboard name

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for having fear of us to lose.

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What's canon is your rust copper
fluff on the breakdown lane.

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Just sleep paralysis to
soften us, cooked together,

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tickled by some pervert
child rearing book.

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Rinse me off the black
market bus stop, horse track,

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dog track, State route 86.

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None of it long for the
backflow in which you churn.

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