the air
can feel it
rush
the place
where no one
cares
to know the
name
how long should
he wait
it’s two
thousand
four twenty
shouldn’t that
mean something
to someone
somewhere
no one sees him
sitting
still maybe he
is invisible again
no thought until
ink starts
flowing automatic
as the shrinks
say but he will
tell you otherwise
of course it is
random
explosion into
thin air
or thick waking
with an irie
eye or two
many emotions
to stay hidden
wanting to be
discovered
here there or
high in the tower
alone and sure
it might be automatic
at times it is
thought
either way time
will never cease
the spin and
here he goes again…
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