Poetry Maybe #15


grey moonstone should be in the cart

with pills to make me drowsy or not drowsy

atomic sunshine could not keep me awake

the ghost haunts my dreams

and i want to stay where

the memory is gold

carefully hidden under

a forest of photos and unsent letters

the handful of bright lonesome memories

before i was humble

everything royal and wonderful was within sight

when did this addiction convince me

to do everything wrong

become late to all appointments

all relationships disenchanted

and on and on

until i buy the grey moonstone

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