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Chameleon    gouache & ink

Hard against the fence,

pinned firmly so he can't be seen,

He feels his stomach churning, rumbling, whining. 

He knows the sandman smells his fear,

Listening for the suck of air into his aching lungs.

He holds his bladder that burns and twists,

and longs to jaunt carefree down the hill to meet again the Logan sisters,

with their crazy, trippy babblings.

How long will the sandman stand there?

Poised, ready to deliver his needle sharp tongue.

The end comes without a sound,

not the long played out scenarios of his dreams.

A snap and no more.

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