what

What I miss is random almost random landscapes
Trimmed horizons overthrow the gaps between ramshackle mansions
I can’t find a crack in the sky nor food for a foot
I take heed of the lakes insane like butterflies and sunflowers
Radio stations are crumpled masks for divine sleep
Flat tires and hiccups blow up each asshole I love
Evaporate manifold puddles that soon become their eyes
I am to hear rare drops of water inside the roadkill
Good music always means death to the listener

 

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