little sad lonely night:
smoking outside my window
feet on canoe,
smoking lavender producing
less sleep than ever.
suppressed laughter and potsmoke
is creeping under/over the hall.
the women in blues-history
is less inspiring, out of mind
when emptiness of computer screen wins always.
laughter is less suppressed
when it is pulled out couches,
miles south, splurge and slumber
retelling proven to be apathetic.
for fuck's sake! (does) reflection change anything
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1 comment:
snow scoot
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