a proud asylum, lurking there
across the street from walmart
the funny coincidences of fate
or maybe wry architectural humor
that make us wonder
if the patients are really
so different from the shoppers
but the civil war relics stand proud
creaking and haunted to the children
to the adults
“magnolia manor was on tv once”
we tie our colored ribbons
for pet charities or school pride
like we mean something to anyone out there
but in the end, we are only
bolivar
(pronounced, we will tell you, like “oliver”)
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