Mr. TPirooz Kalayeh
Dino takes a chunk from his ear, pulls beetled roots and cummerbunds long strands of twig and leaf. He is a regular Mike Tyson. Neither pitied nor a fool He makes minced meat of mantras when mantras come. Mmmm, comes an echo. Mmmm, he repeats. Mmmm in the valleys. Mmmm in the streets. Mr. T. does not say a word. Revenge is in his roots. It speckles the dirt fizzes crumbled granite milkshake from the tremor of his strut. The fall will come swift. Revenge will be sweet. Mr. T. has a witness. Mr. T. knows his rights.
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