The day arrived in leaden pounds
Tethered to construction sounds
Pulled floorward, flat onto the ground
And prone, I waited to be found
I lolled in perfect loathsome dread
My heaviness with guilt crossbred
“But let there be light,” you said
And all my blues, they came out red
In songs about St. Valentine
With glass pipes in a conga line
With harmonics and dark wine
And laughter in three quarter time
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Oh poems...No good can come of this.
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