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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:30:03 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 175698
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => To the bottom of the bottle
[time] => 2013-04-09 20:28:56
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The road bore down until there were none. The light straw twisted and snapped, In subtle breeze. Scattered concrete rippled into the grass And the feet of many late drunken men Got lost in the crevasse The lines on my glass give comfort to worn fingers I am not a working man, In the usual sense. Instead I work the keys Building an eternal tomb for the everyman. Cheap rum falls through my throat as The ice gradually lessens the potency Of the alcohol. The water sits in a fine layer on the top And I play with the beads. The night’s sun bounced from snow On the roadside And I swerved to avoid it. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 147 [topic] => 64 [informant] => Alec [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous )
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