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domiciliary carring crocodiles

chauvinism erode dog-eat vivarium
sabbatical squares
forehead appendix two logs
young at heart dies
shallows vapour black crown behind
uneven brothers at unrest
in pizza modicum
the storage capacity
of crocodiles computers kin
well aware of fledged from fire-wood
carrying transparency shallot
scullery of gagger shank

pencil in-between the thin line
to death is carried
for drawing interim
looking at haunted look alike
stationary the by-gone apostles
in time, it could be more
another poisoned opera might say
inhibition to incubus crocs
may not start usurper
the cruet in table-salt
hardly knows its place

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
this poem is a satire on the modernism of an African woman, her bag is made of crocodile skin, in it are her cosmetics like , a pencil used to shadow her eyes, a mirror where she must always see her haunted look alike, they are stationary apostles of her post modernism, her cosmetic pencils are her scullery of gagger shank, uneven brothers at unrest are we all lost in this culture like salt that has lost its taste
Editing stage: 


Until after I read the blurb. I am about allowing modernization. Though I support those who maintain tradition.. without imposing strict prohibition on the rights of others to break it.

I look for ward to reading more of your work.

In ink,

the thrift between this two sides makes most of life's time wasting notions, though fatal to the teeth and our responses to such both in character and kind actually define our creatures, just like fatalism or not

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