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T R S
Poems
Mar 2019
Seven Stretches.
Wriggling in my cast iron stew ***
was a bunch fried up lives with no soul
Biggering a smile lines up
With a thousand gallon malcontent pool.
Owed in after thoughts on rafters on left
bacon and inter muscular fat.
It's that and high blood pressure
that's on my mind when I'm at bat.
Written by
T R S
29/M
(29/M)
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