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Sep 2014
Round wheels found
patterned, pebble pavement
opened Heaven
and white walls.

Who were washed, dropped
brown mud crowns broken
on soft breathing ground.
It's not loud.

Color from clay,
(my dearest sulfate)
I'll wash away three days
one glass with sparkling diamonds
drops I cannot catch.  Fingernails
orange and chipped, I sip

waste six more days
but saved my veins, still
dream of trains.
I think of engines, coal
and triumphant triangle
iron.  Trains have
become much more
than that.

CTA and there's no Racoon
roadkill.  White walls
around pink stink, black drops
of gum beneath me.

Maybe in daisies, I believe;
mosquitos and flies
I wear pants.  I've got
less eyes and more lies
than that.

Just trust the jeweled beetle bug.
S K Garcia
Written by
S K Garcia  Chicago
   Pushing Daisies
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