(not quite) a literary journal

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Dilettante, by Sad Girl no last name

It's a delicate thing,

telling ourselves we are good; trying, not to

rob these moments 

Who pays? 

Sit on a mountain top

cut flowers on a kitchen table 

a garland, a garnish!

Rosary for the lie 

tell yourself, good

adore a stroke set in time 

Unstable moments, but

this one, is

fine 

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