Thursday, April 07, 2016

- NaPoWriMo # 15

The devil that died in his blue jeans
sings steeped in the drunkenness of the sun.

There’s a blue jean in his song,
a white horse, and a red heart
tattooed on his chest.

Despite the green fog on his lips
and the cold gray in his eyes
his voice corrodes the distance that lies between
thirst and the hand looking for the glass.

He sings.

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