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In my apartment there are
four or five unfinished paintings, leaning against
blank walls

Also, three shoe boxes of photographs
random and unedited
needing mounting

Stacks of blank CDs wait
for music to be added,
labeled and, perhaps mailed

There is a also a novel
about a woman I once knew
in a city I previously lived in

She saw the draft, but
I never showed her the ending

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