We enter the exit
On a Sunday night at half-past seven, trying to erase time
Unacknowledging, as if, the hills were never there
No freezing moonless lonesome nights; as if,
The bus never returned, and the coffee cups were all empty,
And we never lost the road back to where
We would eventually crash; as if,
The sounds weren’t played and the doorbells were never rang
Nothing was ever there. Nothing is never there.
Nothing is never there.
So, I turned to my routine
Like back when
I delineated time.
-30-
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