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Poet's |
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Painters Painters
have long fingers Which
play on pianos Outside
the windows Of
children At
night When
it’s raining And
make them dream Of
trying to get home Before
the birds Eat
their breadcrumbs up. And
they make lines In
the covers Where
little boys hide From
the snakes That
are trying To
pull them away From
their mothers Who
say, "It’s
just a nightmare." But
sister knows She
never loved them And
hands her fat little brother A
bone For
the witch to feel of. Then
creep back Across
the ceiling On
hairy legs Where
beads of color Drip Red
neon Reflections In
the tears Of
a little drunk man Who
does Smell
like gingerbread. But
never really Ever
was.
---
Naman Crowe |