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Automous AuthorSaturday, December 10, 2011. Down the Road from Crawfordsville. Somewhere at the end of the road. Down where the railroad used to go. In her trailer she slept with a frown. Trying to stare her demons down. The statue of libertines came around. The wolf had already walked the town. I wrote poetry without much sound. Except for a laugh. From all of the dumbing down. Down the road from Crawfordsville. The broken motor man turned to stone. Like Apache copters a'rotoring on. They argued the point. Fertilizer ...
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