Fowl poetry

The land of filth cost me more than a life

It cost me a dime

it cost me what stands in front of me nigh

neigh

long withdrawn

foal play

write, write

clap your hands and throw a few bass shapes

Enter the City of funk

the soul has set two tears back for Sunday night’s carafe of wine.

 

Foal don’t play if can’t shake that ass.

Posted on 2019-10-22, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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