Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Scrap Poetry

Thousands of blurry-eyed strangers mill around,

searching for the mediocre refreshments they were promised.

I am from John Deere tractors;

I am from a place that is mine.

How much time will it truly take?

Will deprive school kids?

Pictures follow, even ones without the graduate,

It tells everyone in the house when I'm late.

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