And with the shore
comes the pain
of wiping ice from
the lashes of a year-
long of holding back
lyzozomes.
After midnight
I can finally breathe
back in all the smog
left from my former self
and regurgitate feelings
that were once too warm
hold, even with gloves.
The sky tastes like blue
now.
Clear blue.
Forgetting the past,
building the future
out of clay and wood.
Should be easy
with all that whiskey.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
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