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sprout

the derby bots

and rounded slots,

the push,

the time,

the go.

the hold-me-down

of ever knots,

the whistle

I can't

blow.

the feigned impress,

the postured lot,

for selves,

do some,

give show.

pulled head from sand,

that anti root.

my only

hope's

to grow.

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Written by

American

Published: Oct 17, 2011
LinesWords: 2046

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