…and for the 50th day let’s have a spontaneous poem:
No correction, no edit. Just go.
this thing it sat heavy on my heart one time
and I tried but I couldn’t shake it off
it lay heavy like tar on a hot afternoon
I think this thing was sadness
but it may just have been too much garlic
I sat still for a while in the dark for a while
and I may have dozed off for a moment
and when I came to the press was still upon me
the crow sat on the sill and threw his shadow across me
and no breeze came to lighten the air
my bottle was empty my bottle was empty
oh god but my bottle was empty
and the dead fruit of the drink sat on my tongue
like a moldering genie my last wish having long gone
my throat was dry and wordless
what new pain was this
without a word in all the world
I was finally alone without a word to call my own
so I sat on in the chair in the darkness
no fruit to my bottle no word to my throat
no spit to my tongue
friendless we leave as friendless we arrive
naked too beneath the vault of the stars
the pumped up moon and the unreachable morning
what words when all the drifting is done
could carry you forward or cradle your sleep
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