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Mud in. Mud out.
I use welfare cards to chop lines of cocaine
on cracked dashboards old and defeated by the sun.
I use the rains that cascade from housing gutters
to wash these grimey hands.
That grime lingers momentarily
then drifts into tiny streams
passing through valleys, trees and
bewildered animals along the way.
It trickles down coming to rest on muddy banks,
seeping into the ground I walk upon
when the sun has gone.
Ray Strickland
Dec.20,2010
