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August 14, 2005
tokens
drums of intoxicants
pour into the tanker beneath
my moustache
crowns of ice
slip into the abyss
my steak is broiling
ten dollars
and I know that the crack in the moon
is just a hook
that your photograph
hangs upon
sweeping nettle from the bricks
beneath this landmine of sun
I collect small tokens
of your casual disregard
and stow them inside a pine box
one never knows
when the blade
shall turn
Posted by Drexler at August 14, 2005 08:45 PM