Replying to a comment on:
Happy hour
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flatliner
I sit at the alter paying homage to the liquid gods. My prayers are halted when my bottle sings to me as it transforms to glittering shards. I have a fleeting thought on how to reclaim my mistakes as they course the ruts of the lacquered wood.
Tintagiles
12-Oct-02/9:12 PM
Altar, AltAr, ALTAR!!! Why the hell can'T people figure out it's spelt with a second 'a'? Yeezhus. (Sorry, sorta. I've seen a lot of this in poems lately.)
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