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Gaddafi I see America dancing in oil sodden nights, nostrils stinking the scent of death Your ghost exorcising demons of colonialist clout, walking along banks of the lost river River that lost its freedom Your shadow suffocating under the smell of exile and scent of slums Gaddafi, propaganda is fart, fart deodorizing the winds of the villages I have a burning passion to bring back the dimples and wrinkles of this country. Ghaddafi Ich seh Amerika tanzen in öltriefenden Nächten, Nasenlöcher verströmen den Duft des Tods Dein Geist treibt Dämonen kolonialistischer Macht aus, schreitet an Ufern des verlorenen Flusses entlang Fluß der seine Freiheit verlor Dein Schatten erstickt unterm Geruch des Exils und dem Duft der Slums Ghaddafi, Propaganda ist ein Furz, Furz der die Winde der Dörfer deodorisiert Ich spür eine brennende Leidenschaft, die Grübchen und Falten dieses Landes zurückzubringen.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 3/14/2017 11:01:00 PM
This is the first time that I have ever read "fart" in a poem that was not comedy. Well done. Breaking wind, I mean barriers ;) xomo
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