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13 I AM NOT A POEM said the poem before it leapt from the mind, having paced the top floor too long. The sun always set, but to the poem it seemed a body floating on its own blood. The poem saw a snowflake and wanted to melt it. It felt a river moving under the ice like a rope through a frozen glove. Through the mirror, it saw a house of air falling inward. The poem heard the poet calling and it jumped. ...

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