[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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