A poet leans against the sliding doors like a spatula. Anger in his Charlie Manson eyes. Eggs spitting fat. What are you looking at. Old man. I may be jaundice but I could break you like a twig.
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A poet leans against the sliding doors like a spatula. Anger in his Charlie Manson eyes. Eggs spitting fat. What are you looking at. Old man. I may be jaundice but I could break you like a twig.
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