in the shrill
get my fill
of the frill
ever will
with my quill
rising hill
wait until
on the sill
a fragility
delicate
grasp
last
gasp
inhale
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Nothing here folks
Mental Enemas.
And inside, on a bare wood floor, with bare walls,
I would sit
Before the plate-glass window
Advertising nothing
Selling nothing
Perhaps in home-spun cloth.
if i could figure out how to work one of those spinning wheel things.
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