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Drift (1997)

By James Moats in Greensboro, NC

the flakes are floating down like snowflakes
falling to the ground and down in piles nearly
forty feet high

this place looks out of place in white
with an ocean and mountains that
mark the sky

it pours until you can't open the doors
it's not so bad at least
we'll die inside

wash it all away

i don't know what i'm saying
i'm talking myself to sleep
i'd call that an inside joke
to make you laugh

and wash it all away
with fire


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