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,
and
the breeze
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