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    Cattle Market
  By Sam Freek

She cries on Sunday
Failed at the cattle market
Pretending to be a holy fruit
We all know about the odd one
Who loves to hate you

Phone rings twice and stops
You speak without moving your lips
Brunch is filled with damaged sounds
Salad days are unbridled and trash the place
The aftermath can be seen on social media

Who's in it for the long haul?
The results are made up of course
I could never reach you on the horizon
The darlings are not influential anymore
You said you would never go to Iceland

A twelve hour fast for the disposition
Turning everything into an argument
Your talents are drying up
Harmony is no longer a resident
The seasoned arid tart has left the building


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