Can I help you, lady?


While groveling in the trees

by lonely moon,

today is what every tramp needs--

To be thrown out

without knowing the thinking

of gravelly gazing, Midnight

Gentlemen wearing out their larynxes

with unfiltered cigarettes.


Smoke wafting above the leaves

into the abyss--

Eternal chess matches

with elephant faced figures looking down

through unnecessary



Decaying corpses of freshly gutted

deer next to an icy route 17

blood leaking out into whiteness to make red slushies

like the ones you used to get, as a kid,

at the Carnival.


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