My secret language is a cum scribbled code
more immediate than a dream, but perhaps
we can move past our cycles; reading Henry Miller. Where then?
In my room smoking a mango vape, 8% beer,
listening to an ambient album
with a cover that looks like a Mario 64 desert level.
Earlier tonight I went to a concert and I swear I can vouch for a generation.
Hoping for something magical to occur.
I had an awkward encounter because I didn’t press x fast enough;
you told me something similar happened to you.
We ran into a few people who I didn’t want to see,
the universe spits them out. Up and down,
at the club, up, down and around; who cares.
Not like the trees, but like my perception of artwork, you asked me
if I wanted to leave and the answer was no. Why stay?
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