watch this one:
the brown bag
waivers in the wind
blowing by the chimney
upon which the bag is bound.
two:
dear pat robertson,
my jesus died
when you cast
down a curse
on a pennsylvania town.
three:
you are
the shadow of the spectre
sitting with your back to the setting sun
propped up on the post where once stood a pine.
your legs crossed and arms folded
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