How many thousands
Peer closely into the night
looking for their own special stars
in the concrete jungles
I first-time wondered why
When the glare of city lights
Would block out all the stars
In all the sky
A portal into the night,
Likened to a floating bird
Outside a bedroom's balcony
Oh, I, foolish novice of the hedonistic
Ways of Man
Who vouyeristic clammerings
Seek out the exhibitionists;
Universal microcosms.
Whose perverse stars put on a show
For an equally perverse audience
That they might look through glass walls
Just as I wish to sift through all those thousands
And thousands of words
With the buried anguish and burning passions
Or even the mundane of every ordinary day
Just the crap of our daily existence
Written out to be viewed
By just one more
Vouyer of Words
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