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Morgan Sobek

Morgan Sobek

  • poems
    2
  • Words
    72
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Familiar

It’s a strange thing, this lonelin
It isn’t a feeling, it’s an ocean:
crashing, pulling, consuming
I touch the ground, but cannot sta
I scrabble for a foothold, but I

Sanding the Edges

How odd
that there is beauty
in breaking
into pieces
to sand the edges

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