Or SomethingYou think the day is made of timeLike a field of four o’clocksI live in this city...
Or Something
You think the day is made of time
Like a field of four o’clocks
I live in this city to cross the street
To my heart’s content
Or something
The same luminosity
As the sky: eastern buildings
For a few minutes after sunset
And buy some fluke for dinner
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