*
there is no choice,
there's just an inner tide,
that rises up and floods
whatever else i hide.
there's just a voice
that chews a candy cud,
and ruminates on wide eyed
lack of choice.
no choice but lust
that drives the inner flood,
and vomits up hot blooded
poems chewed and moist,
and full of suds and noise,
likes seas of lasting joys
splashing on the grass and mud
of what we're forced to suck.
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