MAN'S CAYENNE By James Oâ€™Sullivan
Swigging Ginger Joe's, speaking tongues Buying garments from Chinamen That horrid taste; all but one Rolling back like a man's cayenne. Counting hens like sheep; waking dreams Talk of titles both earned and read Not words, not lines there within Cold digits sang like man's cayenne. Leaving time enough for taller tales Busty gals; endless nights; boundless peaks; wondrous sights Told breathlessly after man's cayenne.
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