my mind on a string of hard days
swung over my head
tied by horse pubes
and now
i'm gorging on tuna
with legs and dimples
while my friends in south korea struggle to keep their kimchi
.
my food jumps to me
i only open my mouth
the landmines in laos kill a 100 a year
more than 100 million left
and my tuna isn't fresh
it's like a rotting vagina
but the place down the street
they get their fish fresh daily
i choose like a wiseman who says
choose well
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