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Published on: 12/10/2010
The department store is decorated
with colorful balls, fake fangs, evergreens
with tiny white lights. Costumes.
It's a massive display of Halloween
and Christmas crossing like parades
at the center of an imaginary town.
The inner children are jumping
on their beds, peeking through
the railings of their endless,
staircase lives. Somewhere
in between, the ghosts of a few
turkeys gobble out something
serious, testing the separate
knots in all our throats, handing
out flyers for our next public prayer.
And not far away, in its special dark,
still boxed, stacks of noise blowers
and pointed hats snowing with glitter
wait to celebrate what, in all likelihood,
will never happen, never know the electric
air of guessing who we are or how
we knew what we always wanted.
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