On the of that music rinse wind
Then cloud, 47 miles of barb wire, lamp posts outside each distance
Legion rat Preside. One such that the child, the
given older frame in the nation tease. That exert
that in thee, end.
He will bring happiness
In the pipe. That the weird edges
reverberate in such
words. Caustic as chance, flummox. The back beat going,
Everything was left behind. The last thing is the same.
I am not allowed on my own side. Stop being so young.
Fly by a river and a young moon. Captain high
At your service. To end this poem
On her Harley wearing her hair on a tree.
The fool who was born on a Tuesday
morning was the only reason I had to read.
Let's drink to the salt of the water/, said the young, in general. The stay at home