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poetry is skin, shedded
by Olivia Weinkeinpull yourself from the weeds little one
slumming isn't as pretty as the poets
would have you believe.
& you say so what if the shoe
doesn't fit, there are scores to settle
and a soul to be sold
so you hang yourself from the ceiling
& call it Art as God lights his cigar
and makes a few calls. 03/30/2009 Posted on 03/30/2009
Copyright © 2024 Olivia Weinkein
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