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He rode a metronome, a-saddled high, burdened with lead, Weeks a-rode from home, September sky unpleasant red, His head a heavy tome, a desp’rate guy in want of bed, A dirt encrusted dome, black-dripping eye, and close to dead. His hoss, a steady mare, relentless marching in its sway, A’course, not heard no-where neither a Read More

Hot Air

“Out! Out! Out of the O-Zone!” shouts the man with a bottle in his hand, “Out, fucking gases! Y~ou’re not welcome, y~ou’re not welcome; y~ou’re not wel-come-a-ny-more!” “But we need gases to breathe”, I say to mummy. She picked me up from school a couple of minutes ago. She holds my hand tighter and we Read More