The night turned at last
his shirt inside out, and
small hours, met already know.
I woke up at two,
I try to write
world for the better.
The sun in the morning
brush touches the house.
The night is as
moisture vapor,
in the world
the miraculous.
Heaven's beach house painter
while brown colors to paint
landscape. Factory chimneys
drawing a city
on the edge of shiluets
familiar and safe.
As usual, the commonplace
nothing special.
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