'wow, Quyen wrote a lot of poems'
Neil flipped through the bound manuscript
Tape, I used, and red tabbies
It was some Irish sounding bar
with a man singing in the corner.
Again I retreat back to my soft gift (see
the songs)
of the first weapon, what then I used as armor
I sat upon many a rock surfaced shaped, thinky
you've then some conclusion growing.
The big toe grows further out
of the sock I wrote and geez, that energy
came plenty through
get the cash you need, but I think plastic
terms in, in the coming summer: come as blue
hard I am on complete friendship
He thought I hated the world. Again, after 5pm
I made my silky jangle
transitioned several times
from shakehand to penhold
After all, whatever it may be, whichever day
odd the week
I chugged it and didn't think two centx of you
stand often slack-kneed, no dude objects, I slink
into no win and no engagement
personally I don't care whose boss
maybe a philadelphia winter ought change minds
a bullet of accusation, rooting me out
freezing my helpless
I ought
ah not tempt myself
being the absolute hedonist
I am, flag of truce.
somebody still
living loves
me.
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