Red clay clings to the heels of the lost,
Drifting through streets where the past still lingers,
A heat that hums like a preacher's pause—
Heavy with memory, thick with regret.
Bourbon pools in the cracked-glass dusk,
As magnolia ghosts whisper through fences,
Their petals wilting in the weight of time.
The train wails lonely across the river,
Carrying ghosts and gamblers alike,
Their...
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