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The Marlboro Man

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A soliloquy’s symphony craving oblivion
for a cigarette. With a wake of memories
clinging to my lungs, like ropes, wheezing.
A kept final sleep in the dark’s saprophagous
of dreamless haunts. Within the bones
of my anthropology. Suffocating winter’s
glacial slope…
Waiting for, ‘The Marlboro Man.’

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