Hit Me

February 22, 2010
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He pounds the concrete with battered hands-
he never dreamt a crippled reverie.
The grass on the other side holds a hue-
almost as green as his coveting eyes.
Nursing an arrogance fueled by praise-
his shaky extremity motions a cue.
He tips his head back and pours the fire in-
what else on this earth can save him from his sin?

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