MATCHPOINT ZERO
Down home the taters are grown.
They stay beneath the ground as
they grow - as much like thought
as anything else can be. The easel
that holds the sketch looks more like
the sketch than the sketch looks like
me. (I hope that as easy for you to see).
-
I've messed with my mantra too long
by now. It's riddled with lies and deceit.
A flavor of onions, but maybe they go -
with the taters you're ready to eat?
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