the bleeding ribbons of my soul
flutter in the wind
left out to drift
and fall,
streamers, after a parade,
tossed aside by
revelers
in their
pounding frenzy
the wind whips by
lashing confetti
abandoned streets
darken to dusk
as the sweeper appears
picks up the
fragmented remains
and puts back together
a piñata,
treasure inside
a papiermaché man
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