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Jan 2015
Blondie is true blue, wrapped in plastic,
tied together with a cherry pie on top.
Enter agent, in the mood for ****** or
dutiful doughnuts and coffee (**** fine.)
A saccharine soprano sings Roadhouse
while a log teems with secrets only
owls observe. The one-eyed recluse draws
cotton ball curtains hiding cinereal skies
that saturate such opaque peaks.
The giant speaks of a small town tempest.
Magic rustlings in the Black Lodge
bring on the dark dream, a wobbly man
talks gobbledygook like a VHS tape in reverse.
The fire they speak of is not fire, but sometimes
her arms bend back. Bitter BOB ballroom dances
with a too cool for school, sock-hop-hopped-up
babe in a red room, redrum romance.
Has anyone been on earth the last few weeks?
Phoebe Seraphine
Written by
Phoebe Seraphine  Washington, D.C.
(Washington, D.C.)   
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