Mikael O'Doughartaigh PoetryFUCK MIKE AND HIS LITERATURE, WHO NEEDS HIM |
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rat-poison, tar, apple-cider
it is as black as night out
but we stay late in the grass in our shorts, catching butterflies all i can smell is smoke the scent of my mother on the front porch, cigarette dangling from her hand
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Date: 02 July, 2008 2008 Copyright PoetryCraze.com. |