Day Off

by

“With Apologies to Bukowski”

sometimes when everything seems at
its worst
when all conspires
and gnaws
and the hours, days, weeks
years
seem wasted —
stretched there upon my bed
in the dark
looking up at the ceiling
I get what many will consider an
obnoxious thought :
it’s still nice to be
LFR

You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense

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