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Porter
Poems
Dec 2014
piehole
a desert without sand
how lonely they must be
twisted burning crust of
the thing they used to be
seething tongues of blood
squeaks that cut like briars
tortured by themselves
our gnashing little liars
it's only love they need
a bucket want of fill
caress them with a rusty blade
head thumping down the hill
Written by
Porter
Tennessee
(Tennessee)
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Devon Webb
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