Spitting - Gord - Aspoet
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Gord

2020-06-11 05:50 am
The bar too low,
A life in limbo.
Civil man elicit,
Dance too rigid.
Cancer, victim, 
Lance too frigid.

Is life another rhyme?
Saved for another time,
or just a bunch of lies?

Head and shoulders,
Knees and hipbones.
But does god see soles,
Planted into the beach?
How does god see souls,
Managed funds and stealing?
While reaching into homes, to take his piece?
A plastic man, made for shelves,
Laughs filling his fantastic needs. 

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