Sunday, March 24, 2013

mark twain drank a lot/
ginsberg was a pessimist/
waking up to her.

against your belt buckle/
pushing the best parts of me;/
why i cry in bed.

we have created music/
your dark hair on the pillow/
i do love this song.

her release, like an/
iron file scraping down my back/
pry my prison bars.

she used her soft voice/
haven't smoked cigarettes/
like this since high school .

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