My Cleanest Dirty Shirt

Solitude is a need just like sleep. Sometimes there is a deficit. That must be caught up.

Preach it Brother Liony.

Sing it uncle Hank.

Holey deficits to the left of me. Choking gluts to the right. Here I am, stuck-

There’s just fine and then there’s the B-side of it. The flip never intended to be a hit, at least not this hard of one.

Tomorrow she’s a Sunday and maybe in the morning I’ll be coming down at last.

Not working for the man is a start, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the end of jobs.

There is still scarce peace to hunt and out beyond that

Freedom to fish for.

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