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A m y   M i l l e r

T h e  C o l l a g e   K i d s 


drive up the price of magazines

and gum spirits. Crackle,

crackle all night and mutter

headlines behind that paper

wall. Unnatural bodies

and heads pressed together, shellac

defiling hair, pasted, planted

upside down, cropped close,

the little restless birds

of their scissors chirping.


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