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Comments about Biskitsen Gravitas
At The Johnson County Fair
The sweet sins of Summer beckon from within the bubbling oil,
burnt by grease as young arms are by sun.
I am at once a funnel cake, and want one.
Neon-painted curious eyes, slit-sized once more
by festering scent of cattle
prized for round and well-pruned haunches.
Many sunburned noses, crinkled,
turn against the fetid festival taking place
behind the flimsy clapboard barriers;
Damn few farmhands' efforts met by ribbons
satinized and navy-blue.
Drawn to noise, all young male eyes have turned to see
As farm machines struggle to break free of ...