It feels like we are only the creation of some pothead’s crazy indifference.
Go backwards…you will rise through the sunsets,
go some more and you will find the most untouched love.
The factories were once fossils, talking and sleeping people were once inside the arrogant bubbles of a soda can…
and you ask me why I choose drinking over disciplined literary work.
We all have always been friends from the moment we were not hanged with soft umbilical cords…
and that excludes the wars over masked differences.
I am sitting over a hanging cliff and smoking joints through the opening of a wasted life.

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Photograph: Virginia Kennedy.