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The Raccoon

Chancing fate too late and then too soon

Dancing with the bait of fishing loon

Gait of something swoon

With the weight of nothing’s loom

It’s the trait of the wait for something coming soon

The junk heap on the moon

Or the front teeth of a room

The impending doom

It lay open to consume

Something to maroon

Crunchy bits of macaroon

Happened to slip thru while you were croon

Back in the alleys, filled with gloom

Cats are no allies to trilled buffoons, willed by the moon to hover the darkness; silently loom like a harmless balloon

The charm is the tune they use to peruse; to swiftly go thru an entire issue, with nothing to lose until the rickety trap claps back a tune, just like a cartoon

Not a moment too soon

Go get the goon

Rap with a prude, wrap me a prune, crap me a tune on your way back from taking your naps and checking the traps you set way back in June

Don’t stop by the saloon or drop your spittoon

This isn’t crops; the sun will drop soon

Get to your traps soon and to run may help too

Even in laps of dunes they flay the track’s divisible, fat boon

While you slip from the womb; lift up your fat lip while you trap your invisible raccoon

Back so soon to loom and sift through what you didn’t consume…
by Fartfist
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Published by Fartfist

I am personally a personal personality for a personable person using this persona.

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