An apple and an asian pear

past times,

set about three o’clock,

drawl,

matted but falling out combed nicely,

a little rotund,

but not,

behind round faced tan,

mustache,

from about three hundred miles,

of San Antonio,

On the pan handle,

split a bit of breaded chicken bits,

with pepper,

an apple,

an asian pear,

and God.

Ours, mine, yours.

Who fucking cares?

Grumbled about some of them,

Some were corrupt,

Blinded by life,

Split apart but potentially whole.

It

isn’t

a

matter

of

brain.

So if it is before you,

there is a reason,

and some of them,

Understand this,

Texas grumbler,

passing chicken bits,

with pepper,

an apple

and an asian pear,

that will be handed down,

to the next eligible student.

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