In the sea of desk,
there’s talk of games
and bags and long pipes that leak dreams with the strike of a match.
and there’s a loudness
to the whispers I hear.
Whispers shouldn’t be
that loud, should they?
There’s a girl over
there who everyone knows
and men without ears
who will stand by the door for a price.
In long hallways,
there are angry mobs of dwarves and rats and one single angel.
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