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it's only fairgrounds
by Christopher Mulrooney
bruised the mind felicitously argues
its cases singing along the
avenues
you can't take them too seriously
what if the breaking word soars
like a jet
sign of felicity
away?
the dunderheads of political
science have had their beefsteaks
tomatoes and all
to the bruised eye of the mind
the startlingly argues
mad as a hatter
tincture of mercury traces the gaps
with a felt hand
"the rubbing and the chafing"
the cockchafers get a rubdown
after the concert
the why not the wherewithal
the splendid buttons
the overdrive literally
the cocktail shakers
the mixed drinks
and in a Lake Placid holding zone
or pattern all the jets
that never come down
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