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Image for the poem White

White

A can, some glass, drilled bolts with wool, the bong,
 the cash, the phone, the call, the wait, the score,
 the public stain, the forces of the law,
the users jut, eyed, through the urban throng.
The lash is key, brief seconds that belong
 beyond the exhalation of the draw,
 experience with but one fatal flaw,
once felt, the urge to replicate, lifelong.
  Such use does not develop savoir-faire
  nor altered states of mind which free compare.
   The culture concentrates around the scene
   with many shattered lives, unmourned, unseen.
    The bomb, the Pentagon, there’s no way back;
    you cannot uninvent those craving crack.
Written by Sonneteer (Lewis Robinson)
Published
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