The forest outside my window drowning me in mockery,
for I have distanced miles through a paper spaceship…
to be here.
Every trees…every frozen darkness clapping their hands and making me aware of this grand solitude.
You can’t be a folded face in someone’s masked room from here,
and that’s more than what you can know in a one sitting among true fighters.
I thought of being homeless; being inside the controlled temperature by a machine,
but this is being magnificently outcasted,
this is being unbounded romantic for the curved unknown.
My fingers are on this blurred glass of light liquid and I am hearing the sounds of fleeting tires…
The life of unfathomable roads.
I can hear songs of ejaculating humanities…
and that too with the view of a nude woman protecting her upward breasts by the shadows of blue leaves.
There’s no matter of fact here…the cacophonies of concrete cities were created from these isolated surrealism.

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Photograph: Eicarg.

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