Far as the curse is found
The ghost of death sits at Dixie and Hillsborough
perched on a curb, surveying his domain
Eight cigarette butts
A bad parking job
Traces of noise from a domestic dispute
The roar of traffic
A wincing man and a bored woman
Broken tree limbs
He hopes for a car wreck or two
But even that won’t be enough–
Death can never be happy,
Death is never enough.
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