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Cherry Cola XIII



I wander back and forth, flowers blooming

from my pockets.



watches The Kentucky Derby, unimpressed

with the limited pageantry her



is able to supply.


I wander the streets of our little town.

The day is grey, and the



are brown.


Most of the eyebrows are penciled-in.

I begin with a cherry cola,



wasted the day and having arrived

at a diner at once as



and familiar as the wooden crate

we gather around



family photos.



Cupid’s Playbook 



The young people take their shoes off.

They don’t believe.


Their ears

are like paper dolls.


So are the lightning strikes

off where the sun


usually sets.

Everything stacks on everything



The young people tear a page


from Cupid’s playbook,

so to speak.


I’m not so sure that what they drink

can be legally described as “wine,”


but it gets them off.

They float around and chirp


at the first few drops of rain.

Photo - Armstrong.jpg
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