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Limp daydreams,

Carrion scraps,

All soft-shelled and pale,

Litter the cold and winding streams

Flowing down from mountain's spot.

You, bear,

Astride, in-stream,

Your ragged maw agape,

You wield your teeth as crooked swords,

Now, catch some fish for me.

20, Student. I write from innocence and experience (haha)

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Published in issue 5

Published in issue 5

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