shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Grant Mason

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and the child wept

he wept for love and god and for nothing,
he wept till he was soaked and the rain was nothing to him,
he walked under it, dirty, dull nights of it,
the thunder was the song of the soul,

until his skin was tougher than all the knives of the night,
until his voice was harsh from bottles and cigarettes,
he would whisper to stray dogs and the bums from the alleys,
"it's not over yet,
not yet,
in this shit life."