LUCHHI zANE
 1900 1
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CATEGORY
life
No fear of gang in this cell face beyond weakest point,
Bodies still flowing as screen darkens the joint,
Politicizing double Debbie cakes of the bowl,
Sheltering ideas of enough to run atmosphere in hole,
Black raisin coop of I am the police,
Shouts of gust sticks pummel the speck of eyes against the fence.
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