Long Ratters Poems

Used to be a happy go around…later shrouded in frowns…?
For many a birth places…what are the shades of their faces…?
A log of many a cases…where are the words of their paces…
Memories of a ghetto…not in...

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Into my head stink in mythic one hissing
of running are ratters, as I hated by  
up nearly level of piled woodsheds rottenly sites
at weediest the backyard’s place,
of my neighbor’s unit close edged up wards
side...

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