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MY DOPPELGANGER BY Frank C. Praeger

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I could  be  a  political  cliche, a  presumptive  right  or  obligatory  privilege, a  shadow  hiding  entitlements  for  the  rich, and,  yes,  the  dogs  are  out,  oh,  yeah,  the  dogs  are  out, out  of  years,  excuses,  dreams, squat  now  among  tree  stumps, overturned  =lower  pots,  discarded  tampons,  Band-­‐Aids, vitreous  fragments,  impending  intimate  decay. My  doppelganger,  also,  squats,  refuses  solace,   he  says  everything  seems, then,  he  starts  to  bark  at  a  tree. Discombobulated,  I  ignore  him,   then,                          deny  acquaintanceship,   then,                          kick  a  tin  can, then,                          another,  

then,                        walk  away.

Spudgun #1  

Magazine of poetry and art

Spudgun #1  

Magazine of poetry and art