slow Luke, warm night, slowly stroking the stem
of a blooming orange tulip--hands cooling
slowly, lazily, scraping t/his pen across crispy springs
leaves nothing.
mind is blank, or empty
can't determine ignorance from enlightenment
imaged conversations, nothing important--
everything everywhere is basically the same
is it?
warm sunshine
dirty snow
palm trees
fish-stink alleys
--only still, nothing is sure.
glass, at least breaks
everywhere the same way
a white-eyed puppy
an artist who fights
with his dirty girlfriend
every day
a bartender i hate
do they really exist everywhere?
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