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For Uncle Jim a butterfly headlights the branches of your voice, displays that poet’s palate – a pendant of lemons & limes, aptly young and vibrant, yet sweet and sour: the acids of life blended in amongst your vices, the rotting tooth, the cankered lip – O – you could not know: small hoofed-like-deer too slept in ashes of a tethered orb – were we to unite never in agon – it would – should – be within their soft light Lo – mine shine back up now down flashing while yours – Ha! – stall over your Ohio, dusty, tired, almost peripheral at this late hour – sonic booms announce the parade! ants crawl for the cracks – – her muddy waters churn as though you were still here mincing with the misses sipping Kentucky or just pissing in our gutters |
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