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Mike Arms
Poems
Feb 2012
Poet
can't talk like a poet got
a foul mouth I spit blood
people think I'm simple
because I am
you would rather study human acrobatics
like you would rare animals
but their talk blinds your raised knife
curling onto a fake memory
I smell the burning intelligence
just to watch is convenient romantic
Name it. It kills poets.
Written by
Mike Arms
Detroit
(Detroit)
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