The Country Of The Damned
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Midst clamor, fumes,
cacophony of bargains,
a simple cry

Gazing at all who pass
at faces drained of life,
a face entreats,
a hand reaches out
In the country of the damned,
a broken-boned sadhu curls on his side
A forest of legs and crotches 
shadow him.  Coins

that are almost his.  Falling
coins, a globule of spit
spangle his bowl
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Wayne Amtzis Bio
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