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We Have Arrived To This
Ruin. We say we have no more
reason to stay. We have no other
place to go.
How did we ever think about ruin
as the last word of our
sentence?
Now, we are here
Breakfast is ready.
No one is taking the fork
and the sun facing us
is nothing but this
egg,
scrambled.
poem
by
Ric S. Bastasa
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