no ketchup
no ketchup
he ate lunch
like a bachelor
leaning over the kitchen sink
two micro-waved hot dogs
loaded with mustard and relish
~ welker ~
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she wrote poetry like jazz
dickens of a time
sometimes
stalemate
invisible april haiku
blue jays
my childhood moved so slow and beautiful
destiny poem
brautigan's riddle
she doesn't know i'm writing this poem
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