this season i dug life a ditch - six feet deep.
the sound of the shovel was a bit indiscreet,
soil's soft so i chose to dig in the street.
all my problems on the wayside, in an imminent heap
of tarmac i can't map -- i'm a little relieved.
i feel cigarette heat gently kindle a spirit in me.
i sit. i sniff;. i breathe. foggy breath christens an eve-
-ning all crisp and serene. gentle hint of a breeze
as the moon lit up the scene.
how is it my mind is ever shifting to sleep?
when most days are slumber and that shit's on repeat.
i would kill it to leave.
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