Poems Start With P
no one seems to get it.
my fingers crawl across this thing
I bleed on it spit on it sleep with it.
its the only thing that matters.
devotion to of all tings
(the written word) seems useless to most
the most are probably right but to be wrong in a world so right is to be perfect at least in my humble opinion.
I have gotten jobs
gotten stoned gotten sober
gotten everything for being wrong.
clearly I did something right.
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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