National Poetry Month Day 28: Tarik Dobbs
Not an Exit I was seventeen interning at a natural gas line, I smelled Like shit, frankly, I washed myself in sanded
Paper, that textured soap - it looked Like dotted rosacea.While I stared at my palm, I F-350'd
Someone's sedan in the parking lot.They never called To claim the cash I offered to help and I still worried.
Not an Exit I was seventeen interning at a natural gas line, I smelled Like shit, frankly, I washed myself in sanded
Paper, that textured soap - it looked Like dotted rosacea.While I stared at my palm, I F-350'd
Someone's sedan in the parking lot.They never called To claim the cash I offered to help and I still worried.
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