There will be poetry
as long as the world
swirls in mad convulsion

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is hidden truth with
dreary eyes

there will be poetry
as long as the world
is a road to the dead
silence

there will be poetry
as long as the world
covers us with the cold
skin of bitter mystery

there will be poetry
at 5am with glass o’
whiskey till the horizon
blends in with the empty sleep.

 

 

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