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ROAD WORK by Zachary Whalen

these streets are paved
with the bones
of your piss-stained
existence

cops, animals
trees falling on
rotten teeth
by the mouthful

our bloodlust fantasies collide
quarter tank, eyes askew
brain cells dwindling

just one more derelict machine,
built for love,
stalled out
in the left-turn lane.

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