words at 3:50 am
days meet endsin nightfall
the crest of the moon
is drawn
upon the forehead
of the lunar devotee
the ceremonial wine
is pissed into a ditch
ink blotches on pages
create meanings
(please, don't count
the syllables -
the syllables
have no meanings
on their own)
3/7/16
Poetry by Thomas Perdue
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Written on 2016-03-10 at 06:55
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