The last thought that you think today
Has already happened
The link between profound and pain
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The smokey joe is broken
Drops into your lap
And the big red wasp
Makes a scan through
My black pages
Last night, our boy was out there
Burning up his matches
I saw him in the afternoon
Sporting a black eye
The universal man
Holds a pistol or a bottle
Types with confidence
As we grow out of our bruises
Once, I had a friend
Who had the knack of
Tossing his mind around geography
Boy, you think you have problems?
The hunter is asleep
At least that's what I call him
In the afternoon
Of the new cobweb summer