Found Poetry 331

8/2/20

in the cluster of undulating coalmines
those irregular manhood circuits
the entrance a formidable centrifuge of a mouth
the men pass down like a ball through a wicket
swinging their picks in bubbles of toil
so they may later rise up, beaten but breathing
a forever lingering dust drench mocks their skin
proving, yet again, that color is an illusion

This poem was created from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. Click here to get Leaves of Grass.

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