A little lot tipsy
days roll slowly but nights - oh
the nights rolling into one -
happy jovial, drunk nights.
Thinking of the solution she
is tempted by moths and
swollen sunken eyes calling
for last thoughts and last
orders. A dream, a bottle, a
single promise.
The hopes for tomorrow fade into
secret powerful trips
across scented plains. I'm on
my way. Take care of your souls.
[A poem I found in my notebook the morning after the night before, dated 9/12/11]
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