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Little Billboards #84

Citrus Smokestacks
(found poem–pg. 21 of Eric Schlosser’sFast Food Nation)

The town out on the edge nicknamed “Citrus Smokestacks”
had just sixty inhabitants. It was the last stop.
Tourists and migrants jammed cheap motels.
A local motorcycle club, “Airborne Angels,”
celebrated families and small children and Marlon Brando.

They supplied a new yin and yang. The Hunter
wrote of shoplifting culture. His timing was perfect.
The first—the same—“America.”

Categories: Any Way The Wind Blows Art little billboards Poetry

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Stephen McClurg

I like red peppers and Jan Svankmajer movies.

1. Current Listening: May Day by Silica Gel

2. Current Viewing: "Uncle Yanco" (1967).

3. Current Reading: Ottessa Moshfegh: Death In Her Hands

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