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Saturday, April 26, 2008


Jeans sweat stuck to her thighs
draw the eyes of ringside lovers
as the inner city breeze carries
her sin to anothers cracked lips.
Somewhere chinese lanterns
sway in the thunder above
and they plead to tell a lie.
Angels weep for her underground
as she sells herself to businessmen
and fathers. In her minds eye
she's white as snow with tiger stripes
and butterflies. And as she steps
into the shade of her cardboard box
the jeans are peeled away.

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