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Waiting By The Watershedby Paul Sexton
scoping winterscape in rain filled graywashed scene. and green plastic verticals while drips, drip on. Must be nearing the end of everything. to sit and smoke cigarettes and chat. Some cry because they hurt so bad they can no longer pretend not to. of our grasp on the impermanent. of those who love life no longer. I see dead trees and dying dreams. of everything. |