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Sunday, August 12, 2012

word is bond
these nights are long
when all you own
is a bag of clothes
a full tank of gas...few road maps
backpack full of random work
heavy head stash.
stories are often times wrong
retold by those who aren't I
perception is reality so that fight is fleeting
the night is sinking into MY
the feeling in this old body is reacting strongly to this steez
a few trees later,we will be dining on fried aligator
encompassing the moon with our own glow.
letting the smoke rings skip across the bayou
this world is your home,so never feel alone
however hopeless

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