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For those who linger in Albuquerque
Exodus skies and imminent red desert.
You call it The Land of Enchantment,
We call it The Land of Entrapment.
Rheumy tequila eyes amble the Interstate 40, 66 Central,
adorned with turquoise intoxication and irrelevance of sordid souls and peyote genius.
They don’t see themselves exist.
37 cents short, thinking you have reached a euphoria.