bloody linens
hung out
upon a clothesline
to publicly pathetically
air dry

the peanut gallery looks on
sloppily noshing scones made with chewy middles of indifference

pelts and honorable mention ribbons
to the ever spinning blades
of a barber shop wind mill

how sculpted your arms have become
in the act of patting oneself on the back

a donkey your noble steed
lashed to perpetual fruit stands

garbage heap of sandwich wrappers
your mountain climbed

wooden stick horse chosen instead
conquistador of the mind
ride off
into your bakelite sunset

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