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NOT A PRODUCT
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Notta thing real about it! just a test for us to play around with.

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I Must Write

What does a poet do when he puts down the pen?
Is there nothing left to amend or tend?
And to what end do his words escape him?
This mighty tool has been the door to many a soul and mind.
Dare it ever be repressed.
I fear my bones shall quake to dust in the wake of mental captivity.

Author: David T. Carratola

Twiddling My Thumbs

Keep Dreaming

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