& then the poet became G D/like
just’a rolling his tongue everywhere
like G O D must’ve
when the earth got birth(ed) & even
after the fertile soil turned
over on herself/ & the sky–a mix
between “blue&what you looking @?”
(that was sometime afta the 5th day)
when the crumbling grit shook her grin
loose crossed each arm & said
“Man? Nah…we good”
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