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Listen to poem:
Twirling whirly whiffle spots
Until the golden neon rots.
Baggy, red, balloon-pop eyes
Do shun the evil orb outside.

Resting in the toilet stalls.
Burning up with liver boils.
Rushing to the bandit now,
I slot another silver cow.

Who will buy my pocket-dust?
No fanny-waving, juggling bust.
Reality boards a bus to go
Dreaming high casino.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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Date: 4/22/2016 6:57:00 PM
Just say no...
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Date: 4/21/2016 11:56:00 AM
nice flow, I once was addicted. I curse them casino.... Linda
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Tom Arnone
Date: 7/23/2016 7:35:00 PM
I"m hunting forsaken and belated replies! Thank you, Linda.