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Eliot
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Poems
Jul 2017
I don't find myself, in bleached skin, hearkening back to bein' black & living the life of Riley in West Bellaire's draftiest tar-paper shack
For the sake of 3 things holy, in the waves of the wake in pink lake,
I'll swim with a fat snake in a sea quake, hit my head on a leaf rake,
get brain freeze from a milkshake & trash old C.N.N. for bein' fake
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