Yoke of jokes
In smoke throats and dust motes
Broke spokes of bikes,
Holdin back dykes with spikes
And fuckin wrecking mics.
J. Waterfalls and I splatter walls,
And bat at balls, night falls, and enthralls
what bigs will do for smalls
and what pleasure proper fear installs.
It appalls the great master's mind for seeing blind
and digging diamonds from kindness
trapped in binds of science, blindness, and confinement.
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