Pain is a poet
with sweat and regret
with untainted doubts
on voluptuous clouds
over a burning crown
feeding a stubborn frown
above led-heavy lids
stinging liquid streets
in time-chiseled grooves
lip biting moves
and breath holding void
exquisitely paranoid
as wisdom's bodyguards
chomp the flaky yards
of sweat and regret
pain is a poet
with a fate no better
than a lucky dead letter
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