Leaned in forehead. The body sitting leaning forward about ready to fall off the couch. Arms folded eyes open then closed, open. Close the door wake up for more of the beated drum whisked into insanity. Here comes a voice from the dry dirt of Africa . In through the cracks of the window it seeps. Sing to me. Spinning wood walls falling in inverted pulled back from the other side upright inside. The sun is going to sleep.Not Your Fool
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