Saturday, June 12, 2010

When I Sleep

When the sun goes down, I peel my skin.
I rise as a nightly ghost to a distant maker
We play a game of two man poker, drink some spirits
He revels in his Godly thoughts
I am mortal? ask for what I do not say
When the sun comes up, my skin has healed
I awake on a feather bed
A folded Paper readies for a night's return

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