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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

A PICKPOCKET IN THE STREET









His nebulous hue dies
A melancholy smile
Substitutes the garnished one
The gush on his chest
Oozing with dark blood
The onslaught leaves him
To fight only for his life
Not for the loot
Now scattered on the hot tarmac
Men, women and children watch
As spasmodic waves of life
Ebb out of him.

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