this cheese like all cheese this dressing gown this frown
this iron green-grown giant that kicks in the door
the sick stuff when it flew all red and thick stuff
but no no the giant who walked in with fists
like sheep whoof he says whoof what now
will you do, little poet? in the valley the river
has risen and the road surfaces are sliding off
your new sex toys have become an embarrassment
you want now to throw them in a ditch, walk home
in the rain. we have no fortitude now. we are not
the Red Army so determined.only this little last thing
are we as the waves the waves lave up
.
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