Sunday, May 30, 2010

when it's yr every third thought it makes you yawn

slouching
on
a
precipice

smoking
a
cigarette
on
a
cliff

nodding
off
on
the
tip
of
the
plank

my
cap
tipped
over
my
eyes

legs
crossed

shoes
untied

laces
dangling
over
the
mouth
of
the
end
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.

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