Evening prayerl spend my life sitting, like an angel in a
barber's chair,Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs,My
neck and gut both bent, while in the airA weightless veil of
pipe smoke hangs.Like steaming dung within an old
dovecote&thousand Dreams within me s tly burn:From
time to time my heart is like some oakW ose blood runy
golden Where a th
en I have
u/
hirt arty
yssop and
es
h of ow
Rim
oaring
fern. —Arthur
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