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Bus Window

Wild eyed, dark faced boys.

The kind of children not born,

but pressed from murmurs.

Every morning

on the way to school

I saw them,

just beyond the play yard,

in the woods, smearing

in and out of trees,

slowly, loyally,

collecting the sap

of desire.

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Written by

American

Published: Jan 10, 2013
LinesWords: 1246

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