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M a r k   R e e p




At a truckstop in Altoona 

you walk out behind the idling semis

to smoke your last alone but

some homeless guy,

frost in his beard crazy eyes, looks out, 

a dogdoor in a dirty snowpile. 

I get a hit honey? You say, 

my name’s not honey, 

it’s Noroki. What?

I don’t hear so good. Hey

where you goin’? Bitch!

You wet your fingers, 

pinch the joint out,

walk away. Casual, 

like you’re in no hurry.


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