beard is long of those who can not wait
of those who decided not care
everywhere, in every such.
jeans in the wind, the cold air.
Gypsies are born, we become pilgrims
the sun was too low to see us.
thirst, light, and then the night.
coins and scattered light to open a soft pack.
between the pear liqueur, and tales of rags to wash
everything seems to lose shape.
my pillow smells the same.
red liquid. and dry hands.
love machine.
life in your pocket.
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