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if life was a river

than you’d be my moss, on the log

on a river, fallen so far out

of my comfort zone, trembling with

pineapples.  I was a prisoner of war, way

down in bolivia and you didn’t know how to rescue me,

but you contacted the government and

they sent their agents in.  I fell into the river

when my life was a jar, filled with

dried fruits

of the jungle and the

money from afar.

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