Between Pacific Coasts
Down the lane, I breathe out loud in half
frozen air. And the black amnesia's in heaven
are lighting a half moon on the stairs.
And I bite my lip when I breath out loud.
Wrapped in Japaneses paper all the way
around. California can't see the sun rise,
because smoke doesn't climb like it lingers.
Runs long on a broken lung.
Sedzia pyta oskarzonego:
- Panski zawod?
- Akrobata.
Sedzia szepcze cos do siedzacego obok drugiego sedziego i po chwili wola:
- Wozny! Prosze pozamykac wszystkie okna!
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