There was a hole on my window pane, 

Large enough to throw pieces and make a use out of it. 

First, I sucked at throwing, then with time those smoked and screwed cigarette buds would jump right through it. 

You see, even when there’s no light, no air, world’s trembling with rattling and babbling beer bottles, 

i would let the smokes fly through them.

On hot summer days, with post cards from those friends in jail, revolted love poems, 

that hole let me look at the cats and car lights and romanticisms. 

Then one day during the sunset,one nasty little cigarette tilted from the nirvana point, 

It burned the whole place down, with all my poems, all my revolutions. 

Even a painting of a sailor too.

I got a new place…car lights ain’t same from here, cities with just bodies from here…

I need a hole to slip a word from it. 

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