Awful, awful: to be sad in America...

So many middle classmates, and yet all these empty spaces! I count pigeons between the electrical wires,

they don't carry conversations through the wires anymore--

all our voices must find each other through unbounded space.

It's hard not to think of you sometimes, and just now I guess I closed a door

I didn't know was open

which explained the draft,

the breeze

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