Not A Shoe In The Sky

I write down words so maybe I will write down words, on a northeasterly zephyr in lemon sour sky…

no need to ration your poems about poetry and how art is dead in a midnight veil you can’t seem to

make a rhyme count, make the one two punch spiked in only one swing an endless ribbon of a

has-been Poetess.

No more new scars.

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