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Poetry
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| Pissing on the moon | |
| By andybyers | ||||
| 07 September 2007 | ||||
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I stood there so did he black water rippling, trees ghost-sided all dusted white by soft light blast sand still warm on the tide’s retreat He said Look what I can do baring himself to summer’s black eye golden arches flying reaching straining all the thrust of modest rockets laughing, splashing my toes Pissing on the moon and more adventures before the sun comes up
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