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Thursday, February 9, 2012

American Spring

They stumbled and mumbled
Heedless of time, direction or place
Fires illuminated the horizon
Acrid odors of human flesh pervasive
Shelters, hastily constructed of placards, signposts
Teetered in blustery winds or entombed some in hellish boxes
And they wept, hot tears on outfoxed faces, realizing
Tea Bags won’t steep…in the icy waters of Corporatism

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