something of a breakdown
And a series of illusions
When the connection was cut off, I realized how sad I was
I hope this night will not be long
I have firewood and a disc from the cold
Tomorrow
Buy a package online
And write to capacity on my chest
Fed up with you soft fingers
-
Pine forest
And a shadow
And a friend dispersed over the years
What bad luck
Young and still practicing grief and blame
Fight his words, every moment a woman
Now he loves a woman
Ask him where you are
-
I broke down crying
Tuck the air under my pocket
I turn my face to the walls
The doors just blur
And the windows are a sacred altar
Pigeons do not sing
And the horizon swallowed the light
-
counting
for you
and dismounted
outside silence
And I emptied the sound
Because you come back with an echo
to dissipate
as the dimensions of the range
The bishop has no grief, no restrictions, no beautiful adobe structure
*
I get close to light or dust
take a shower
Submissive proximity
Closer to home and farther from heaven
Nostalgia is a country growing in my chest
It grows and extends upward to the horizon
became a lot
minimum
In order not to fragment like a galaxy like mirrors
My heart is the moon
*
scanned paper
And a free basket of songs
breadth of need
They occupy corners
They set up a soft leaf bazaar
They run behind red lights
They caress your windows
They escape from the exhaust
sidewalks
Hug them and sing to them
*
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