one that once held an arkansas toothpick
bony string bean fingers whittled away by time and the scene of it all
black heat falling out of those hands, down low on the cold pavment
seen the people crawling back and forth bright new belt buckle armbands fashioned snug at he elbow
don't let the white heat fade out at a pace too fast or too vast for even the most well trained alley cat ghosts
sweep your old boots whimsically across main street and the corner
not that corner not hollywood
no where near that place
the girls round here say there always doing just fine and look at the ground, you have to ask twice and ask soft to get to hear the sad soul speak.
my imaginary beach with imaginary palm trees
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