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| Acrid fumes assail my Nostrils like Saturday Morning controversies on Politics or coiffures. Recycled Paper feels good on Recycled food, wipe me Clean, my friend, wipe me Spotless. A barrage of Random thoughts rampaging Across my tired mind. Bright lights on tiles, like A red-light district's String of fancy neon-signs. Flashing Their Hollywood smiles At the lowest=bidder's Price. Pink and green lies. We consider the death of A life-giver, we celebrate The release of last night's sins, Slushing about in the Pearly whiteness of a sanitized Factory-child. And we smile and Laugh as we contemplate life In between the slushes and Flushes of furtive, conscience-cleaning Toilet times. |
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