from bed, still going

she didn’t want to close the door on her own

but, no one else was there

it was past the time feet shuffled through moldy carpet on their way for one last check before entering a place free from the distraction of caring about other people in far away places carrying suitcase souls for their next vacation

isn’t there enough vitamin c where you live can’t you count the pages of dollar store books on a piece of land designed for you and the other two who bring something different in the way you walk down shrouded side streets waiting for penniless children to speak, and you laugh and think ‘how cute’ their trying to appear not mute to the blind extravagance you go back to in a world of space lit psychopaths eating dinner with politicians carrying out agendas for counter intelligence cultural cock suckers crowding our personal space with information blasts riling crowds to spill over

gorilla theater

we can’t even speak to one another when truck lines blur in panty raid exercises, get out of may face i want to feel alive, grabbing my own arm to slice tracks making sure this stupid fucking show is real can i crawl back in the mountains without hearing the rev of atv fuel racers climbing tracks that take away my next trek into reconnecting with something that doesn’t shout or pour or complain of gout a rich persons disease for not understanding how to say please with something other than a coin or bill. i wouldn’t reach through my window sill to hand you a busted pill to ease your anxiety of not knowing how to talk to me

close the door

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