on my way to night, not home,
just alone, which is home. turn signal, sky opens up,
blue to all the pale, gentle things again. it's
paved empty for me, just me, i sit here travelling.
being alone is the ultimate pleasure. street lights go off, see-
robots already have taken over the world.
no action, no sound at all; decadence of self.
finally i know this space. i looked for nothing,
i found a lot. we rest every day- each
and every day we rest. nothing is happening,
cops are lined up along every curb. nothing is
happening. i might love you; it doesn't matter.
nothing is happening, nothing.
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