Category: Poetry
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For one
We moved on gentlyWalking away quietlyfrom The unsafe trail If you like it, mention it
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Pub poetry, as it were
Morgan had an orgasmsitting on a high chairin her mahogany gardenin Nottingham-shireShe did have balls, of fire,within her eyes- and I’m telling you no lies -while she was looking fora ocean of creamy cheese spreadbut lost her fingers instead
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L8 o’clock
The glass is ALWAYSe m p t yand I’m dryand blue ALL WAYSAll daysAll daysAll daysAll daysSo late& delayed… I had MY drink, g r e e d i l y andso was the glassthat dried me up (I ask?)Late & delayedLate & delayedLate & delayedLate & delayedor was that finalsup fatal? © 2006