this old world is thick brown in my veins
this old country is old air in new lungs
this old bed is black with drops of
sleep.
this old mouth is word-bitten and cracked
this old shirt is thin from the wind
this old hand is still from long sharp
pain.
this old wall is terrified by its contents-
this old breath, strong syllables against night-time
this old gaze that tears concrete, willfully and
tired.
this old world is cars and streetlamps
this old road is tar and paint
and long trees in the distance
ringing with old songs
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