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The wounded


At the old people's disco

They drink water in glasses,

And wrinkled women

Flirt in tight dresses.


At the club of the wounded

The broken hearts

Are like flickering candles

In the black walled room.


It's a lot to bear

This being human;

We get old and broken,

We need other humans to oil our pain.





How sweet to be


Lifted up in a great

steel cage,

Swung across

Light strewn roads;


My body is airborne. 

Bus driver:

Bear me home.



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