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February 5, 2011

Reflections on an Atlantic Coast Town

Gold, silver, and bronze,
or silver, gold, and bronze,
or gold, gold, and bronze,
or silver, silver, and bronze.
Always bronze closest though,
until you slip beneath the surface
where the reds and greens and yellows
of eros, envy, and too much alcohol
share space with grays, blacks, and off whites.
But the bronze fades and has to be reapplied,
because it wasn’t real anyway.

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