Old light, tired light,
alright, I brought
the rain, pour out my
soul, bear rips open
heart from chest and I,
bedraggled, not reading
in that poetry voice but
from that voice in my head/
heart, audience isn't there,
it's like every trip fantasty
I've ever had,
ther is no individual reality
in a reality entirely individual,
the bear roars to heaven,
I worry about the tone of
my voice, the whine, I
grab my hat, act it out,
it's damp inside, raining out,
I've gotten through seven pages,
I've said my piece, I
leave without saying thanks.
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