Friday, June 6, 2008
NOTHING BLUES
I got no problem saying nothing.
It’s on the tip of my tongue, down
to the Isle of Sunder.
I got no problem saying nothing.
It’ll keep me company,
like no other.
I got no problem saying nothing.
With seeds split wide,
and no place to gather.
I got no problem saying nothing.
A wet, black bough
gasping in the ether.
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THE DEAD ARE THIEVES, TOO They’ll pick your pocket clean, like that Ozark you left by the river. How many times do I have to talk to you? ...
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