A barren hill does his sex on monsoon, 

poking the cloudy curtains and ejaculating spineless semens from the swinish core. 

My shoes know it…

Every atoms of which are far from sovereign state and every pity emotions attached to it. 

Columns of undisputed and borderless dusts under this mortal phenomenon. 

I envy its lifelong fate to hug the obscurity and infinite. 

Let me wear those one last time and ascend the foreign mountain…

Jumping off the cliff…

Smell the feathers idiots…high and high…beyond my tangible roof. 

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