Last night, jumping around,
my hair flying, feeling like I
was a figment, a filament, free,
Rozi under the blue lights across
from me, dancing.
---
I have so many things to say to you
that I am never going to
some things are like that
tough and go
words aren't everything you know
visions are like memories
like images in the puddles of the street
pass me by like light shadows on the ceiling
rhythmically
---
The streets of copenhagen
in the dark of the morning
talking games like kids
to let it be simple and deeply flawed
to not obsess over this
(But I am an artist.)
---
And the light comes to touch the buildings
lightly with the back of its hand
lingering like the scent of
someone who has left,
but you wish had not.
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