I watch the houses, tangled up in rows as I drive down the street thinking of faces painted from corruption. They frown and fritter their teeth and look down on me from my mind’s palette. I put together something special today and they look on in grimaces. They spill in marshmallow bubbles about government, torture and sex—of tears and moans and screams. I pass up each house and look in like it’s their minds and see intimacy. In cold, stone faces they pass, looking back at me.
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