Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Newpaper smeared on my face
over and over, to get the right
five o’clock shadow
a ripped gray sweatshirt
hair up and sprayed, for just
the right wrong look
torn jeans, a bandana
my costume, or the general idea
for many a year, a hobo
prowling the neighborhood,
on All Hollow’s Eve

October 31, 2006 22:25

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