sometimes

sometimes
it seems that time has stopped
or just got sick to tick and tock
and thereafter you don’t want to
be someone or be for someone else
nor have a smoke
nor have a drink

rather to
become just another face in subway car
or a window in the night of some cheap motel
a long forgotten thought in someone else’s head
or laugh at someone else’s merriment

or a pile of letters cut out from some newspapers that
even God Himself
cannot decipher

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