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You move me.

my poetry’s incoherent, inaudible, and an abundance of technical jibberish

By me

These little girls that rise from corn fields bold & busting at the
seams with hazy expectations unreceptive to the lives &
movements of those growing & dying before them.
Sallys, Emmys, & Maryanns they think they know it all, they
do. Proclamations of youth too ripe to pick but much too
mouthwatering to pass by. Tomorrow’s another day  & another
day of bursting skulls and spoiled greens.

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