it’s ten degrees out
and I’ve not written a good poem
in a week or maybe ever
I’m driving to work
as it seems I often am
and the road is icy
my lover sleeps at home
and so does the rest of the world
it’s not yet day
and the snow and the dim
take...
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it’s ten degrees out
and I’ve not written a good poem
in a week or maybe ever
I’m driving to work
as it seems I often am
and the road is icy
my lover sleeps at home
and so does the rest of the world
it’s not yet day
and the snow and the dim
take away all color
besides the double yellow line
and the green light
from the radio
maybe I should have
learned to play the guitar
learned to sing
learned to work in an office
learned to be better off
but the radio is on
and I’ve got this folk song
I’ve listened to too many times
and I’ve got seven miles
and this poem
and the sun sunk in frost
but glowing somehow still