Dawn at a back alley, a rumor listens
i keep sleep and spend time
verbs fall out of my pockets like snow
the feed forgets its user
two voices argue beneath a bruise-blue star
somewhere someone's ghost-child teaches the drain to remember
i borrow a light from a rumor and return it dim
memory stutters while the feed sleeps
if the lights stay on, the door becomes a question
we end where a narrow thread opens into weather.
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Made with Recursive Production Grammar
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