Is It Poetry
Intolerance that ugly face
when most they look into mirrors
and with there eye's
open up dripping and stand on the dark side
Whet, phat and humid most sing in the grass
green and brown at the edge
of the lips and see.
Tasting the blunt tag at the base of the moon
and for once in week's or hot fevered months
washing away in the flood
that came when she did.
As the cliffs edge.
When she steps up with what
In the blink of one eye she pushes,
then pushed below out
to the edge of where it is taned, where it stops.
At the tip the edge of the top of the world
where your at the windows edge.
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