Jug, Slumber


I talk to myself now, not that many of you would really care, or relate, or care because you relate. It’s by prescription only. Or subscription, I forget. Whichever one means you pay me. Might as well be Hare Krishna because—again—all that matters is that you pay me. As long as you become my consent to my reality. Just nod your head if you understand, or if you don’t. Just nod your head.

Because the line of cars goes on and on and on.

I watch their lights, moving slowly through the sky full of falling snow.

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