Gleams of light
shine through
the windowpane,
as night
disappears again
colors explode
from the bland scenery.
Lit a cigarette,
sip some
milk foam and coffee,
the pretentiousness
seeps through.
Been watching —
waiting till sunrise.
Trying not
to miss a beat,
headlines flash,
infomercials inspire,
atomic energy harvesting.
Maybe being asleep
isn’t too fruitless.
I close my eyes.
You are Hunter S. Thompson and Allen Ginsberg wrapped into one.
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