Oh dear recently returned friend, come back into my head, just sit with me again.
The dreariness of the empty streets is a plague, that spreads wild and pollutes my brain.
I'm dreaming of the doldrums a far off better place, I'm dreaming wild things but my friend keeps me wide awake.
Our awkward existence has got me baffled, it seems that nothing is yet complete.
Each year is a half circle if you were asking me, these words don't paint a picture, that's not o.k with me.
The simplest words are the hardest to define, this poem felt manufactured, in a nocturnal factory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.