I would like to hit the world into pieces If I had a solid baseball bat I would smash some spotless display window glasses too Along the way on my rusty mountain bike There’s a holy serenity about midnight These obsequious commodities are purified and sacred When left still in the dark; their dignified and mute reflections Are angelic replicas of a devoiced human utopia The night is yet endless and tender I am fed and hold like a child, unwilling To wake up, and leave the mother I am immature and intend to keep this manner As a kind of etiquette against this world. --

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