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“Follow your inner moonlight, don’t hide the madness.”
-Allen Ginsberg

he strange

Walking the Beat
I can turn a phrase
Like a pirouette, I will
Zip bibbity doo-wop
Down a run-on, run up,
Run around sentence
Like a slippery keyboard
On a Sunday, I have
Whip-whap attacked a school
Of synonyms, swimming
In a fish bowl so I’ll give you
Twenty-seven names for
Sweat, I’ll cut you with
Consonants, ‘cause this
Lit junkie is into erotic
Elocution and I need my
High strings snip snapped
And I want to paint you but,
Adolf, baby, I couldn’t do it
Either but I have these words
And I’ll use my spit to
Paint you gold.

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