With what I can
I am
I stretch across the sky
Teeth tired
Mouth after mouth
Minutes passing
Two arms with two hands
Inexplicably innate
Faces turning inward
Grim godless gun shy
Fine by me
I only rent the angry sea
By noon tomorrow
I'll surely be homeless
Better off on four feet
Thank two for trying
Wood grain whiskey bar stools
Pockets emptied by scraped palms
Morning ensues in subtle successions
Of whatever joker get a good job
Rooms regarded as the world
Live from the tippy toes of mount you
Care for a drink?
I gave it up
With whatever I can hold onto
I am
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