SlangA Poem by Kenneth The Poet
standing on a rock
with a wind-eroded torso, a mushroom cloud frozen in time but teetering on a precipice, awaiting the right moment in the future to become another member of the Boot Hill gang, the land will remain as the buttes erode themselves first into faux mushroom clouds and then into shattered elegance, and then and only then will the slang become null and void © 2012 Kenneth The Poet |
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Added on February 9, 2012 Last Updated on February 9, 2012 AuthorKenneth The PoetBismarck, NDAboutKenneth The Poet is an optimist wrapped in the candy shell of moroseness and cynicism. He lives between the two parallels marked 46 and 49, all while living in the state marked 39. He pretends that he.. more.. |

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