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POTHOLE (I am become ice of simple power)

At Crystal Time

My cold lattice

Demands more space.

My claws of sharp water dig to free

My Friend the earth

From your black tar.

I have found her!

Seven

inches

down.

Lovely

In her open truth.

(Sorry about your tyre) .

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English

Published: Mar 2
LinesWords: 1342

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