deepundergroundpoetry.com
Broken Smoke
The train rackets, sways as the men sleep
They are like prisoners in an old ship, trapped in the burden of their labor
One man dreams of her, his sweet, curly red pop
A little while later, another man reminisces about one broad who left him because of what he lacked
Still, he thinks of her as he twists his frame to look at a photo of someone else
And then he puffs on his cigarette.
They are like prisoners in an old ship, trapped in the burden of their labor
One man dreams of her, his sweet, curly red pop
A little while later, another man reminisces about one broad who left him because of what he lacked
Still, he thinks of her as he twists his frame to look at a photo of someone else
And then he puffs on his cigarette.
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