lode

there is a thumping of sweet
gin in my ears;
it’s pressing back and blocking
these dead mules
of almost business almost men
in their almost suits,
almost living their impossible
miserable lives to an end that will never come
to pass for something as real
as the deception that drives them

there is a thumping of sweet
whisky in my seat;
my eyes are musing and closed
but the way is clear
through skies of cotton clouds

there is a thumping of sweet
rum in my words;
by my side, share this lode
be rich for only the cost of a step and desire

saving clutter, there is no more
to say, but to sing
this melody, thumping and sweet

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