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tasting the tongue

it just comes to me
o yeah,
that would be good
in a poem
so i write the line
and then the notes start
taking their places
as if predestined
knowing their spot
pouring the right
colors into order
and pleasing the senses
of the one listening
or hearing the beats
as they skip from time to time
not sure how many
were packed for the occasion
some are even old friends lost
from a previous life one might think
when the learning never happened
and a.b.c order was a thing of the past
as shake speared his way into my heart
what a beautiful art did form
when got came before getting
and the sum was not told
because when left untreated
can become manageable
and the prophet has said
free flow and let live
is the only way to go

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