Postmarked-Angle Inlet, MN

 

Made it to the next city

Fishing is a cold bore alone

Two weeks of drinking- TV

My room has become musty

There’s no revelation here

Sleep is a crude silence- me

If anything, I may be lackadaisical

Become less, smaller, darker

But then again, who cares?

 

Poet of the Light © 2018

 

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