swimming around the unconscious - could never get a handle on that car - making a run down the hundred kilometer highway stretch, and bashing into several support pillars of the roadside diner - again - i figured this time i would make a clean path, but no, whack, whack, whack, again, but i'm still alive - but i think the fenders dragged along some plastic figures, one of them looks like lisa simpson - somehow i'll have to explain that
somewhere along the way, is the post-office - along the way, from tampa bay to a cluster of apartments, where i tried to rent a room, to live in, on my own, and maybe with an ex girlfriend, but that never happened - ah, the post office, THAT was the post office i was trying to get into during a black out - it almost makes sense now, but not quite - bubbles, lots of bubbles, that's all
there's no telling when the age of sweat will end - maybe when the glacial rivers freeze up
this is as close to serenity as i get, post-office - i may save the mad bears, if i get the chance, if the appropriate level of energy builds to an anti-climactic crescendo
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