Dope with the horses,
irish boy's drunk,
meltmeltmelt these spindly thoughts
hell boys here on earth
skeletal fingers scrape
...these wily smokey roots
prophets all us who stand
in vintage leather boots
here bricks, there dust
we waste this time
smoking fluorescents
always only waiting for the wine
strange it is,
hornet stings to the chest,
smokestack hilltop
in absurdity let us rest.
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