HIM GO MISSING
Like Jim on a raft, hiding out to flee, running
the rapid wilds of whatever may may be, I take
those fleeting glimpses of chance and fortune
just to see where they will leave me. One
out-of-control mistress are my dreamings.
-
Now the devilment be had - I sit at a larkspur
table with two pounding drinks in hand. One for
me and one for the land. I stub a cigar into the
face of the wind - liquid things, tears amid
the cries of others are all I am hearing.
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This solitude is killing me.
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