mendA Poem by h d e rushini know i hurt, because i know I've loved. Beneath me the aging Simmons and Clark mattress swells with tender n*****s, bed bugs eggs, gallons of night sweats; sex. I can smell it when the June air waifs tenderly. Available i am, to reason that first the tulips come before Gods competent tribunal then the Glads planted there by the old Polish woman who's husband built this house. Even the English rose is rife with misogyny and half truth concerning the marrow of the poems lyric. Each day i carry around the desire to lay in hay waiting for the savior moment to pass like a kidney stone Almighty: under the Elamite of Vigorous spirit with the air thick with the burning of Kotex's and the stench of the bedroom heavy with bile in this instance the Congolese boy is digging down the earth for cobalt for 1 dollar for a days toil for Samsung's thousand dollar smartphones/ because like a warm place to sleep, greed is a force like the impulse of life. Seldom do you find it all together as one enchanted light lateral.
© 2018 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on March 6, 2018Last Updated on March 6, 2018 Author
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