The war of art got me off the streets.
Blaine told me a secret.
Never label your bags.
Hold your receipts.
Hold me down like a golden fleece.
Artist was my moms.
I can count a million times.
The strongest muscle could have dropped a-bombs
While listening to Johannes.
Years ago the hand of 60 palms
Switched the fibula path, I mean brachioradialis.
Stop signs made of tin fell on the center of head sideways.
Off the sidewalk for never living.
Taking pointers from Oprah via the sidekick Motorola.
A king cobra looking like Travolta.
Pame volta to Mars, for red stands for Minolta no that’s Leica.
Aching joints all the way to the capital of Costa Rica.
This is not a favor applause.
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