It’s 3.50 in the morning.
Room is dark.
I have rolled a big fat joint,
and it’s swelling fire is the only thing I can see.
World seems distant, world seems megalomaniac,
world seems rained.
How I wish you could be here tonight, babe.
I could show you how rains can be made from two peeled lips joined together,
I could show you spring between forests made of skin…
I wish you could be here to see what a genius I am when it comes to loosing my shits and making love on a writing desk…
I never had the hallucinations of timing.
And I have always been misunderstood as a lunatic poet but all I have ever wanted; is a flame to cure my spilling of obsessions.

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Photograph: Annett Turki.