Walking home tonight along the common - stretched out beside me.
a hazy blanket. a level of mist defines the spine of a shadow tree. I stop to spark, smoke in mouth, flick of flame and not a whisper of wind. Hazy Sunday mind does the walking. automatic feet. why menace the mind? There is only one thing we must accept, that there will be an end. all else is debatable.. all else is… and I am not and what will be next?
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