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Oct 2012
I am at the mercy of your hips
I am the thousand dead poets
with nothing to say
in a steel trap of shuttering knees,
at my middle
like the lazy syllable 'T'
in most words that I know
under sung
oh, I ****** up
the lace of your underwear
was like gravel
under the downhill parked car
of my naked edges on you
I am drunk now
and walking home unsatisfied
I try to *******,
but I end up watching the sopranos
******* it,
Written by
Jory  Chicago
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