In This, Dying And we wake to a slue of death Every day now come the morning. Someone’s blood gets blown dead And i can’t stop seeing those tribes, Long woven beards and fields of opium Waving and thickening in Afghan sun Charlie Watts a panacea of balance And substance, he was a golden child gone. Don Everly widening in the time of his dying. Such a classical hillbilly he was. Susie wake up. It’s that we’ve shot our loads. In deliberate. In our wicked lust to have more of more
©2021 Linda Chown
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