It rained for a week straight

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And in swatches of gray,
Day comes blustering.
The fiends in the fields
are mustering up
a little something
for the drip parade.
Me with a motorcade,
chewing on stalks.
Whosoever walks alone
relinquishes all right
to be here
and be heard.
Words rip the pavement.
My feet carry no tune.

-r. miller

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