Once, A Traveller (a poem)

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Once, A Traveller

My mind still possesses its eye
travelling by the light of those
dirty diamonds we call stars.

I ride bareback on the
gravity of foreign planets
surrounded by absolute nothing.

Up close to the Sun, I can
tell you one thing for certain –
he has never outgrown his acne

and when angered, he spits
like a sailor who is wandering
drunk and blinded, in the rain.

 

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