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He spat a large volume of saliva
A mixed taste of desire and disgust
as he sat down  at the wooden tool, which was barely suitable
as it would not hold his large butt in place
a small bit of fleshly bumps would peep from different places

Now he thought to himself, he will write next poem
this time the topics will be entirely new
the idea will be really original unlike his last posts
which were taken from old collections, from pretty old poets
Older than his silver beards
which often carry the smell of spits mixed with nicotine

The poems were not so bad, as bad as his temper
but, the audiences were not available for him
Maybe they were busy too
writing their distasteful poems.

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