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Blanket to ears, nose to the wind,
pursued by what demon I know not, he breaks free from discourse
Except for his gleeful parodies
spoken on the spot
to those de-boarding buses
weary and lost, or to the fretful
fleeing the capital, or to the defeated
who cannot, but truly to no one at all, announcing where they've
been
And why they're going
Their circumscribed world
he circles daily. At the
intersection
fear of being seen
stymies him
Of the beggars, he alone
dressed for this morning's performance
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