Nighttime, getting older
The coffee became less than lukewarm,
wagering the sacrifice of direction—
the illusion and force of freedom
falling off somewhere. The matinée
remains on the reels, with the changing
audience in the same seats.
Something gets caught between
the bee and the honey; I learn
to mute the curiosity and through
emptiness, wish the wisdom into nature.
On its back, biggest slot machine.
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