wakes

in the dry grass next to The Bull

once every year the ground would shake

and scream “faster”

while our fingers grew sticky from the company we kept

here to win fish as golden as we wished

the beer

 

what of the gypsies

what of their king

what of the grave thrice danced around

finished with a pin?

fairgroundlegendstravellerswakesyouth

◄ slow shadows

riddle me this fatman ►

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