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Carousel
hands in the air,
wind whistles through open fingertips
in the night bustling of spectators
their dresses are lace, satin, chiffon
of maroon and black.
they are the dreaded circus-goers
going round and round
the large pointed tents
blinking orbs of red and white light
prolonging the stares of dizziness
their shoes shuffle against the ground,
waiting, heels digging into the soil
wafts of popcorn and vinegar
sprout from the open ground
they keep their silent poise
until the carousel stops spinning.
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