Oh how these pages protect
my state of perplexed.
I once was alerted of this American dream,
sitting on a sun soaked porch with a novel,
cigarette and sweet tea.
The only thing that keeps me sane are
these words by pretentious authors.
But how I cry spontaneously at this perception
of people.
After days of distopia, the burning light
through windows of homes
gives a weird hope that I cannot place.
academia fostered theories provide
an outline I attempt to trace.
recall memories of indian tribe parks
in the midst of the city, looking at birds
and sending a few words to those we have
mostly let go, but not quite.
the winter's bite is loosening, I still grind my teeth
at night.
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