DescriptionJust a random poem
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Waiting silent, cold and dirty, Boy do I remember the corner blues. All dolled up and only one place to go, Straight to hell as far as she knew. Musty high beams gliding past, Water splashes on old high heels. Seniors play with no introductions, Familiar customers all named Jackson. Midnight loneliness setting in, Flocking like moths to a red-headed flame... Second night, the seventh try feeding the birds. Seven Jacksons.