Carriages

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A marbled sidewalk platform,
sick with dropped coins
has guest.
Four.

A vendor profiteer corrupter,
well with dropped coins
has a parish.
One thousand.

A carriage with two
infants born to beg
must be a mistake.
Too much wealth
is fleering,
pealing – I am yours.

Work, you leech.
Close your hand, feed your child
with your own bread.
We have coffee to budget,
we have no time,
must meet four carriages, others.
Laugh at the stained silk on our babies’ breasts.





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