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the yelp's

from wavy haired women 
who finger themselves at night 
fantasizing about carnival workers 

the husbands and band-aids 
looking for some 
lost pathetic child hood 
there is no robin hood 

no politically or creatively correct 

there is only this 

ruptured fingers 
speak moments 
in solitude 

to cream glazed 
roller coaster rides 
in the headaches 
they all 
shrugged off 

another never knows 
another’s thoughts 

when one 
never knows 
his own 

yalp’s 
like cotton candy 
with loose bolts 
swarming bats 

 eyes of love 
prizes lost and found 

in for the night 
with harmonic ghosts 
sugary teeth ache 

pin tailed donkeys 

there is only 
one 
among many nothings

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