this morning i can write, of the wild boys and girls, that left the bar weaving, like seasoned boxers, sure of fist and step, dreaming, this morning i can write, of an empty glass, that filled up yet again, will find a way, to flow down, giving energetic gravitas, this morning i can write, of friends that remain, even if the picture faded, of friends that were real drinkers and lovers of men, this morning i can write, to you who still wonder where to find the next thing, break the frame of being, to become one of us
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