The broker

Racing against it and running out of it,raving at strangersraging injusticesrivers of refugeesbegging forsomeone to help usplease. Are we just bubbles that poporbubbles that stop, oreven bubbles that neverrise up to the top? who’s blowing themthat’s what I want to know. Christmas and what?there are those who have andthose who have not,life is truly becoming…

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Pinocchio nose

At least four Mondays in a monthand at least four ways to look at themlove ’em or loathe ’em it seemsthat we’re stuck with ’emI don’t mind themin factI find themquite refreshing…

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