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Apr 2013
We pass this age, in pipes,
pass hazed bathrooms
on river outlooks, fleshy and brown.
The walk up walk down,
they stain us in tattoo colors,
us in memoriam, us in spite of them.

The roots of our habits lie,
lie, and are laid in secret,
above our flat hats smart pants;
we tire from a fight, a pose,
from watching flies drop around us.
We end in smoke, us in ozone.
Colin Carpenter
Written by
Colin Carpenter  Minneapolis
(Minneapolis)   
760
   Pure LOVE
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