Giallo

The rain falls in flash busts

ornery of

the ass end of

this mountain town    .   The hogs

trot,  violet.   People

coke their suppers

and toke.

 

When the meek rose in the bursting, fire

willed upwards under the sun .

The nonexistent winos in this

              boiling island town

              remind us, they

              catch in yr eyes.

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