Poetry

It Rained All Day

There’s no point
that’s the gist
Smoke a joint
Make a fist

I’ve done one
skipped the former
Bloody knuckles run
red wine feels warmer

My dreams I find
on sun-drenched waves
A trick of the mind
It’s rained all day

There’s nothing for it
just lines that rhyme
from a poor, bored poet
and a glass of wine

Categories: Poetry

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