(x = space)
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Fear of Visigoths
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Now is the penultimate:
The warning
On a moving map,
Digitized attesting to
The storm that’s on its way.
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There is an open sun
Just now
Belying all aggression in
A strategy of sky—thank goodness
That we know
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We have a day
To run through all
Remaining shelves
That might have inventory.
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Barbarian invasions
Of the nervous system—what
The virus doesn’t take,
White digits
Of snow warning will.
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C L Couch
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Photo by Scott Walsh on Unsplash
Night Job
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