Steve in san fran
whispy moustache empty briefcase
neutral confusion
cold and senseless
Lost and lonely
unknown to himself
every indoor cringe unseen
every reach to contemplate a sense of life or death
His life one story
trapped in there interacting with his own facts
becoming a wall of them
repeating all that he heard
upbeat brain still pumping the chemistry
Yet no idea what to do with all of that
existence seems to just kick onward
No feedback whatsoever
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