Sunday, April 24, 2011

Thin Sheet; rough draft

A man and his sign are not much at all
dig those trenches boy until you can't dig anymore.
Smack, pot, high octane forties, the seduction of the screen
pale in comparison to the world that I see
(though my eyes may be Portland fogged in
on a long rainy night).
Lately these long nights I linger awake
the sweat and stink of my breath my armpits my crotch
sing into my nostril airs
also scented a thin sheet pulled tight in this cool but all too warm and humid autumn eve.

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