Morning again and we write
Coffee and barely any hangover
Reading of the written books that we are writing to see if they still measure up
Poetry filters have been weakened
Spelunking down the tiled airshaft, he saw the grumkins
But I understand that alcohol hampers abstract thought
And the need of it certainly hampers my housekeeping
Wordless of the tides he wrote of songs
And the pretty lady has no interest
Needing to move money from one bank to the other to meet my contest deadline
We work towards this goal
Pills all out, but oh! We must go wait on the psychiatrist for hours
D’oh!
And thence to work much later

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