A VAN DOREN IN MORNING
Old Mamie's still alive
hawking wine and photographs
to those Branson drunks
eyeballing seventy nine year old
double D's large, sagging
like memories of youth
when my sister's soaped up breast
bubbled huge in the mindless
eye of the novice lecher
today, all I have
is that sourest of tastes
from envelope and stamp, sending
away for nipple prints
to brighten my sixtysecond winter
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