i thought i’d become a famous rapper and rap about my home we called 8 kilometer, but there was always something just slightly wrong. perhaps it was my grasp of the metric system

poetry

repetition-tition
brings those things that
you claim you never
never needed or wanted
or hoped for.

those things that
like rhyme
like reason
like the phantom in that
phone booth
can handle words yous
cant otherwise use

like that and take that
and smoke that
and

with a beat or two
and a white rapper
you could be something
if you only had words that
you could throw down
in a pinch that
make people twitch that
scratch people’s itch that

um….
yea like that.

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