Schizo Chess Master - Poem by nathan martin
hopscotch gray ash leper.
quicker to the tray with the
embers still burning.
he smells of malt urine and
pall mall ciggeretts.
so steady his genius through
yellow tar stained fingers.
leaping briliantly over checkered tiles
in the park.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
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