I Don’t Know How It Can Be this Hot and Not Rain

I’m sitting in this motel room
with a notebook and a pen,
writing angry notes
to God and Angelina.
I don’t know where I can send them off
so I guess I’ll tear them up
and the whiskey contains all the proof I need.

It’s heading south tonight on a northbound train.
And I don’t know how it can be this hot and not rain.Read More »

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