Poem Hunter
At All Hours Of The Spleen
GC (fall '72 / live on on the alfonsina storni side of florida)

At All Hours Of The Spleen

Poem By gregory collins

War is like a fifth wheel
on a thin line
At a fork in the road

Where the only elbow room
Is to eat one's words
To feel out of place

While all the while
Drowning one's sorrows
To drive someone else crazy

About how you can die of boredom
Whole holding your breath
With each other's throats

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