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I watched as she,
us cut from the same cloth,
stared into a diamond martini glass.
The leather on her shoes
haven’t seen the sand filled with red ants for years.
Drip, drip, drip
The last drops sacrificed onto
her olive chiffon skirt.
They seeped through the layers and
were the only ones who have done it in years.
The winos and banshees beside her, mesmerized at the box with moving pictures.
USA In Shambles
They can’t turn away.
They don’t even notice Miss USA
beside them in her own ruins.
I was supposed to be gone and away.
Life turned to dust, travelling with the wind.
Instead, the dust left traces in the martini glass
leaving chaos in its wake.
Ivan Brooks Sr
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