Thursday, October 27, 2011

this might be my difficult poem

one time i had this dream that we were all in olympia, it was a giant street fair, we were downtown (i was double fisting forties), and you were there and you were there. but we all had our instruments, drums and strings, or markers, or spray cans. and the cops gave us high fives, instead of "move along now"s ... and instead of spare change i just traded you for what i had for what you had, coincedently it all worked out.

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