. . . wash it all away

put my life of pain in there . . . my illness, my work, my regret

some sweat to spare, some stinky dreams, my ripped paper greenbacks of debt

i smiled to think of a better man, who might arise from the wash

in such a hurry, i donned them wet, went out like a giant galosh.

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Fox Kerry

Fox Kerry

If you paint for me even one thing which is true, perhaps I’ll be tempted to consider two. I tell tales poetically, someone else needs to set them to music.