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Saturday, February 21, 2009
There’s a stream that trickles
along the eastern-most part of
town.
Devils slink and claim the cobblestone
that ate the acid of last night’s
murder.
Some poor motherfucker drifts
in the eastern-most part of town—
eyes staring at the cosmos.
I pass by. The past hoped that it
was dead, but eternal.
What lies.
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