I discovered a secret
far back
back into the reaches of my room.
A Burgundy sofa
under my clothes
and filth
Coarse and wooly
but smart and vivacious
with the unchallenged age of lovers
discomfort.
Inviting cleansing air
to be aquainted
with the stale heat of the radiator.
but yet
Something lovely,
altogether nostalgic
the swirling of hot and cold
Fellowship of men around a campfire,
seeking solace from natures harshness,
only to find what poets call
the entry into ones self.
Laying on the couch without care,
I hope that I am some place real.
A freight train lost in siberia despite its
tracks
The crew praying to an open
steam engine.
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