I have my debt towards this blowing warmth of these sun licked trees…
I have my Nirvana through the eggs and their irresistible yolks.
I have been gazing past from the times of stormy evenings…
I am a poet having unrecognizable sex with this brown haired lady.
A wall… bullets… defeated holes…
and me on the other side.
Alcohols are free and strong, the streets are full of hallucinating people with no sting on their assess.
Full madhouses…full graveyards… industries to make intellectuals…
I am a poet…I am a slick bastard flaunting for sex,
I am made out of fleshes.
I see people having drinks with bluegrass guitar tunes and trying to beat their clocks…
Weird is that I still can’t hold my glasses after listening to the fusion of music and the sound of human conversation…
I am a poet and I know what it means to spit some words in disturbed nights and die a ludicrous death in mornings.

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Artwork: Google( Shewalkssoftly).