Poetry

   
 
 
trip to the kitchen November 8, 2009
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i drank and called a friend of mine
amidst the party's slow decline
towards the lonely sunrise trip
to the kitchen for a sip

she didn't answer, she didn't know
any good reason for me to call
and may have laughed about it all
with another guy over a cigarette

i pour myself another cup
while windows age with a warm "what's up"
because the last thing i want now
is another stubborn field to plow