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Pooetry

Chocolate Bar: Redux

Again I find myself in the parking lot.
I feel a southern growth of choc-a-lot.

An alarm goes off on someone’s vehicle.
And another in my bowel, and now it’s critical.

I gotta find safety to drop my guts.
Some sort of sanctuary for volatile butts.

If I don’t find it soon, shit will hit the fan.
And my pants will receive something unplanned!

Pure Pooetry

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