A poem written each day upon waking. It's mostly unedited. I think that's the point. Promise not to laugh, or let me give up, and please, wish me luck.
Friday, January 14, 2011
1/14/11
Logic isn't required or stable
and time isn't able
to prove -
This is why I keep asking you,
What are we going to to?
The apocolypse is an inevitable dawn;
I know which drugs I'll be on.
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