Words in the page, and they push me in the face. And I push them back because Im not so full of grace. And then they clam up because they know Im in a race. And so I chip chop them up and even start to erase. but even if I change the place and pick up the pace, this poem makes me feel I ve been sprayed in the eyeball with mace. I aint got no flow. No flow Saturday. Somebody hold down a beat, wouldya?
Posted on: Sat, 19 Oct 2013 22:26:08 +0000
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