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New York Delta (poem)

Songs of bliss, songs of sadness, songs of piss, songs of madness.

Floor raid Small three! Grock’s poured with glee… DS in the basement. Positions! Placement!

It’s midnight, phone’s ringing, two brothers are missing… It’s midnight, pledge singing where together upbringing.

Pat cooked up a storm, surely thunderous aftermath. If toilets could scorn, on kielbasa would wrath.

Despite dangers and risky friction, I wouldn’t trade those years away. Such days were stranger than fiction. Beer Olympics, Secret Santa, all sorts a’ play.

And I can honestly, undoubtedly say, because of it, I’m a better man today.

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