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this sunrise tastes like a fat lip from getting punched the night before like an ashtray kiss half asleep in the early futility of a morning you have to take with tap water and two aspirin and this sunrise feels like the end of the bootcamp of the winter
The images are blunt and great. Spring can’t start soon enough.
That poem matches the pictures, drab and dreary. It’s a testimony to the great writing that it has such great images and metaphors. The taste of old blood and an ashtray kiss are exemplary examples.