ForkWordPoems by Inchiki |
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TomatoLike a forest fire boys quietly as the cows come home endure the sun on their backs make mud cake from the salad field of war the dear tomato moor or - forest fire letting the sun down and up - to reveal in their mist the rebel scattergun – shot . . . jerked camera Nevereverever! I let her! Let ‘er in! [barrel rowel tears bowel to tears] blood blund bland blunder dunn fabric only folded hands feel neither glass stain nor the pearl are worth the feeling inside that girl |
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