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A Biped Unsure

How can I be so happy?
So happy for the world?
I lose some ideas,
Like a biped unsure.
Thoughts like rivers,
Words like streams,
But my place of life,
Is still unseen.
I don't think I remember,
Where'd all my phrases go?
Nearly endless are always flowing,
Off to somewhere unknown.
Half asleep,
But still not dead,
I still may have beginner's luck,
Laying on my pillow, overstuffed.

©1999-2019 Steve Bujanow

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