Sweet Auburn is a poem of success, excellence and perseverance in proximity to and in the presence of  adversity. It’s an unsung hymn an upper room narrative that wouldn’t be shoved done, beaten, whipped, smothered , burned, hanged, raped, drowned, or erased by hands gloved in hubris and in the coil of cold rat snake. These cracked dry hands that tried to tear heaven down and terraform God into soil fit for cotton with the tiling of it by enslaved mortal wrapped around immortal external combustion engines whose chains have millennia to move off bone onto mind that is in the midst of had forgotten that The Riis always wins yet fortunate enough to simultaneously disinter remembering to replace almost forgotten with a scene that feels like unimpeded noon sun in the shape of a round note traveling on the still quiet voice more subtle than moth wings kissing night air ineffable and shamelessly spiritually loud, ” NOBODY BEATS THE RIIS.”

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