Poem a Day 2016
Showing posts with label
poem11
.
Show all posts
Showing posts with label
poem11
.
Show all posts
Sunday, January 24, 2016
RYAN
My voice is a low boil his a cuckoo clock on opiates
gentle thing he shows me the glossy girls he’s known
and we scheme a life. Sacred are the funny ones,
the sunshine after its been put to bed.
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