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Rated: E · Poetry · Travel · #905917
Modern poetry. Travel vacation.
Summery, Gray-Mountainous, and Green

See closest.
We're not starting over; we're continuing along.
Life in a room, as we mentioned, and that bus out west.

Watch out! My friends and I from both!
Who'd listen to them? They'd be a whirlwind,
in case I'm next,
around when I leave my summer vacation with my family, instead of work, which seems better when you think about going home again, and after going out into the world at the end of it. A singer is an athlete.

So when I find my room with a window and a shutter, on a hill where you can see a town;
it's summery, gray-mountainous, and green, instead of breezy.

You can say, Dad, Mom, and me.
Dad and me, Mom and me, and the nineties and me.
No, it's determined, who you are.

I don't do extra intellectual work, or possibly I'm thinking great thoughts or analyzing life in the world when I'm looking out the window.
What are my days about anymore?

We had hot chocolate at our hotels, a water pitcher and a glass, and we bought two outfits, all to be at the races that fall.

Every once in a while, we'd catch up on what we were doing as a family.
What were we doing when we did nothing at all.

So, after evaluating and evaluating, of course, in living; try to phase it out; play for sympathies and identity as a good or bad person.

Art is to the finder, not the keeper.
The cover drawing black instead of green.
After reading and looking out at the late night sky, I'd gone home again.
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