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writing

Businessmen

i had bad dreams, people tying me up in rickety wood chairs
their faces could clearly be seen, unshaven from days spent
perfecting the idea. they pulled out a syringe and injected me
with cocaine for days.  it’s time to have some fun, son!
they later let me loose once they knew i was addicted.
he gave me his business card, which he’d had made as a lark,
number scribbled in blue pen, since it changed frequently,
but in typeface it read, imports/exports, wholesale to the public welcome

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