The Man on the Moon is melting
His figure distorted
Like candle wax dripping down into the inky sky
His essence forms the stars
His figure distorted
Like candle wax dripping down into the inky sky
His essence forms the stars
Light is lobbed to the leaves and they cradle it
In the evening they throw it back to the sun
whose tendrils collect it
then go home
I think peace looks like:
driving on the highway from College Park
listening to “White Ferrari”
by Frank Ocean
Monday
Rejection
Run late
Elections
It’s a Friday
Let's lie down
We’ll figure
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