(profanity alert)

do your dreams play better in colour?

you may never make it to Oz, be left

in the dirty sepia hollow of your streets that bled

their hue & rye into the gutter

when your ankles drowned in

silk and nylon and the alleys breathed your

living tears did you lose more than I ever found?

what do you think you shall leave?

the weight of your footfall...

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