Benjamin Blake

Corollary Ambulation

Winter arrived
And the sun came out
Traipsed over suspension bridges
With hound at heel
And cigarette in hand

Mind’s a whirl
Of far off places and pretty girls
Of waking in strange rooms
Armed with books of poetry
And bad intentions

Soon enough
I’ll stroll up that gentle slope
And sit and share a drink
With that dead drunk
As the western sky
Burns a dull orange
And I sink into that sacred soil
Never to leave again

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