The line was a war front.
shoulders and bones
trying to cross each other.
More violent
than a family reunion.
Men in suits
checking out time
like timekeepers
or bell ringers.
Teenagers in
Bluetooth earbuds
like the birds
in a rookery
ready to change the world.
Some flies
with tickets in hands
and counting
their longings
and evenings
that were wasted
like in the
sad fuck Russian novels.

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