you're weaving kelp bracelets and crab-claw chains
and this raw sandpaper oceanic life is tumbling spare change
into a salvation army bell ringer’s pockets
ka-ching, jackpot, dimes and nickels pour from his dead eye sockets
take your winnings to the tax man up on his hill
leaving just enough to pay for your vitamins and veterinary bills














Comments
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[link] LPS. For Poets, by Poets.
[link] South African pride.
moot
thanks
i know how that feels all too well, i suppose many writers do.
i'm there now...
i can't write shit....
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