Stone eye
Chance, brown luck it doesn't matter.
The chance to live in a nice home in
the center of the universe, new world.
A new chance each year to change
the way we live each fear, differently.
My hand sinks into the sack, pushing
through the strangers, shaped stones.
The sack is filled with hundreds of ice
cold rooms, the living room is soft and
warm, my room is created, eye lifts out.
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