Is It Poetry (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)
Many like we, I came before.
In single file under the eye,
watchful of your every move.
Howling outside the wind blows.
Being not dead our heads are shaved.
Nothing from something some get.
Pin points of light turn into night.
Into the void called a grave.
Face to face with the one none have names.
If I can't come when you call out to me.
Be naught to them seem afraid.
Barred window's the shower lost family friends.
Woman have rights thine men lost the fight.
Early to rise soft the bed.
The earth cries out like never before it is full.
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