Algebra Suicide

Horizon

Algebra Suicide


A restless heat has risen above the soft hiss on the radio,
And suddenly, you become the sinister tease,
the moist, orange heartache that never goes away.

Now, I hold you out at arm's length,
the way a mime holds out a phantom bib.
Now, I am dreaming of April, of yellow.
Dreaming of deserts upon which you walk into the pale horizon.
And the distance makes you ugly.

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  12. 25. Horizon
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