Poems
2004-11-03 || 7:43 p.m.

I'm fixing a breakfast Of pancakes slashed with hot maple syrup
Whipped with butter
Slid next to sausage links Each steaming and sizzling like water poured into hot oil.

Orange Juice glides down your throat Washing down the breakfast you just crammed down your throat. Out to the world which isn't as kind as your morning. But then again, There's always the morning.

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