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Paul Tran

The Santa Ana

By Paul Tran Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
Meteorologists
Measure me

With mercury;
Police with murder rates.
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Paul Tran

I Want

By Paul Tran TO SAY IT PLAIN. He comes inside
without a sound. I shut the door

I should have never opened. My body
flips over on the bed like a coin
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