offseason housefly!
I pick up my first weapon
limber a cold wrist
- Gary Hunter
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See Allafter the rain pure golden light I plop into a sunny chair who’s damp cushion eventually soaks my bottom at this moment i care more for warmth than hate wet and watch those leftover clouds crawl whi
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why write poetry? it doesn’t pay the rent or prepare cheesesteak sandwiches or make blankets that might warm someone you can’t dance to it walk with it or talk with it it’s not a friend but really the
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