Rain in late November on a pilgrim with whitening wings. Crows at the old maple over the wind. My life any burglar.
Wine getting old on the window. To be happy is like more broken. Masticated bittersweet.
What's the use of greater poverty? Dog eating skunk and spiritual promise. Abundance tears the sweetness out.
Tea humming songs of the trail. Arrowing south as a river inside him is older than the interstate. Believing in mercy and desire.
Thickened or rain-soaked gathers him. The rock enters into it. Beautiful pain in shifts.
Fragmentation comes slaying with coffee. Coming resembles a thousand like a city. A place for out in the idea of you.
The new cold above the song they know. Together within me broken.
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