Dear Drunkard,

In this body we complicate issues, thoughts, concepts,

Make them more than truth

Put it away

None of it means anything any more important than

Anything else…

All these things mean no more than

A drunken song at midnight

A cat’s soft belly

A writer’s pen.

And with that…

It’s time for bed.

Rest when you are tired.

Live your life.

It’s not really yours to waste

But the universe forgives if you do

Because ‘you’ ARE and

All you can do is become.

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