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Shove

There's nothing like a pressured toot to get you out of bed. The moving sheets, the rustled beat; of flatulance ahead. That very sign that life goes on despite the time you have. Where waiting on the sun to shine might mean a death through calve. And hope is an illusion of a sleep that's pulled you in. When your luck means live or die to a death that's judged your sin. And you wake with expectations of a world that's going to love as you move about your business in the manner yours will shove.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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