golden death, by kevin martin

short
gasping breath
early every morning
got beer in the fridge
fog rolls in glorious
by dews dawn
losing pagan gods
knowledge
never knowing
what
Fea’s breasts
look like
hitchhike
down the road

hearing
same songs
everyday

my lover visits
a
gallows pole

through prickly
eyed bush
crossing the street
to pick up a penny

always
heads up pennies
keep you close
and dear
to a hearts firemortality-401222_1920

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