(w)on(e) in a hurry

Before you know it
the store/venue goes to exhibit

what is forgotten is the product          and it’s critic
only the accumulations of volumes by the digits

a  matrix           in a graph of sticks            ready for the magic match sticks

dip my kicks in it’s central purpose
mixing our social/cultural/economics
to a vocal natural sonnet
son, in the net you might not escape after your inter

the sharp pains like an annoying splinter
joys & laughter
that can make one faint in tremors
Old Uncle Napoleon is making stories again
lets lift the animals back to a farm in a pen

Friends to ends and enemies since the beginnings
the freed men spend their extra time in poetry innings

4th quarter in his last down
won the spring Olympics in his hometown

the Drum ringing it’s epic sound
One never forgets the drowning singing poetics
just hurry up and say “when”
fumblingly musing into powerful trust, ready for us to bust up again
THE GILDED AGE of sheep instead of men or women

It gets deep if landing in the steep changing edges of the world’s gem
Keep planning every awakened seconds of living
Then again nothing will seem surprising
at the habitat where a rap was thought to have started
first in the art creating smarts
of rehearsing for the appreciation to taste sweetly tart

widening the waist of gluttonous hearts
Smut-ten stuff is something tough,
it don’t fall apart like steel shopping carts

(w)on(e) before the wind starts slicing from black beans by the quarts

Nice as butter on the rice and sugar on the dessert
Premonitions of advice summarized like a report

some call it sport,
pervert to perfecting the subvert to a state of art

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