Ink Doctor Taboo

What’s a poet
y’don’t wanna
know, it’s epic

I peddle edible
gibberish in whinerese
M’muse you Epoch

Twenty four more
t’dozen, three, four
hearts in hive

Pay’s ‘a same
whe’er I’m phoenix
or borned alive

Fingers hurt now
torches still high
inks’ allover place

Taboo’s as Shaman
prophet and father
Mother, his grace

Canvas too small
ushearts in stars
murals all sighs

Wind’a t’heaven
her sweet Door,
b’first Her eyes

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