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About This Poem
Crayola Crayon Time
i prefer them bit off
center
(a slow lick on a hard knife edge)
a shecat sparkling like pinwheels
on the silky hilltops of waterbeds..
the ones that make you obsess -why they're one hour
-five minutes
late
why their mascaras messy
making you waife their dirty necks
checking for that strange strong scent
turn you into some kind of burning,paronoid
jittery flake.
i like'em a little mousy,a little off the
beat
a chick that can spit with class
kick the living MAN outta me...
A fireball that contorts and concocts,
attends to every want and need...
(ya know what i mean?)
hum-ta-dum...ta-dum... ta-dee
but in the end what I really need
is
periwinkle
predicatability
a crisco oiled apron
the one mamma used to don
a lullaby in the quiet cove of a racing mind
reminding me of {dead} mother's...
undivided attention...
way back in Crayola Crayon time
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