The posings of a poet.


We’re all quite mad and need some drug or other
whether the cooked up needle kind or just a hug from your mother
We’re paranoid
and unemployed
and quite sick
We’re all less than sane and need some medication
you can choose your pill I prefer caffeine and meditation
Our gravitations
draw hallucinations
and short of wick
We’re all deranged and out of our element
but my isn’t the feast in this asylum decadent

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