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The Terrorist In Willimantic, Connecticut, Usa

n the autumn afternoon a wound festers in the crack of
the asphalt roads in the city
once a pasture field for the native Pequot Indians

What fraud and deceptions do the window-curtains hide?

Doves and pigeons do not know the color of hope

My cigarette stubb I interred beside the Bridge of Frogs
while the traffic procession headed for the Foxwood Casino

owned by the survivors of the massacred Pequots
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