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each step a stumble, each yellow heartbeat the scent
of the earth pouring life into the dirt like a carnival
spreading into town and taking over the power wires,
lighting up all the homes, taking over the streets, sewers,
barber shops, taking over the playgrounds where kids used to
roll in the dirt, no longer, now just heartbeats pouring
into the sandboxes, dusty and cold in the sunlight,
far from the schools, from the homes, a little
sandbox on the plains, yellow sand mixing red
with the last blood of the last dog the madmen
will ever shoot before they cry to their mother’s headstone
and beg for one more bullet to do the job right—
unanswered prayers to the great deaf-mute in the sky

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About James H Duncan

James H Duncan is a New York native and the editor of Hobo Camp Review. He is currently engaged to his Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter, but admits to ravenous affairs with various bottles of wine on the side. If you see him minding his own damn business at a railway platform, that's called research, so leave him be. Apt, Reed...read more Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, and The Battered Suitcase, among others, have welcomed his poetry and short stories. More at http://jameshduncan.blogspot.com
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