[in efforts to]
sober comes with loose change i get an idea that might just turn out to be this poem; for what it's worth is grating on my nerves and hacking at words like weeds beneath my grandfather's porch no tenderness, no slowness: i am coming up short of what i need or want to get across like how your well traveled roads always seem to be driven by the men you know least.
2004-06-22 | 9:04 p.m.
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