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The great beast

tipped with an army of

acid claws

it sported a color blue

so deep you could fall in

and no one would see you sink.

It’s favorite kind of prey

were the ones with the sanded wooden sides—

the ones that bobbed up and down

and were filled with goods.


The beast lurked just beside that snow capped mountain

the only home it ever knew.

The beast never stayed still.

It liked to roar and attack

and spray its poison mist

and drag a soul or two





but deep





it hurt

a growing pain

that radiated like the rays of the sun

that The beast hated so much.


Maybe The beast ate too much.

Everyone has bellyaches.

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