CHUBBY FROM HOWELL
Oh I was born Baby Blue and
mustachioed too, with my
due-date bright-stamped on
my forehead. It might have
been something, maybe said,
the circumlocution of a rambling
crowd - around an oasis of trees,
scattered loud, with celebrities. I
never come home until morning.
Like a cat in the willows to scramble;
stale milk, left out overnight on
the ground. A good enough treat
for nothing. Let's eat. Mmmm.
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