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Found Poetry 331
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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