Solitude on the internet

Internet is out there waiting in its mud tracks, like clumps of trees as beginnings of neutral skies. Night’s stars may have gone home for the day with men warming themselves by cave fires and women in the sickle of perked up bodies.Women are interim sounds on parched tongues.

Face books are not books but men in themselves as they practice their absurd facial movements in shadows of rising elbows, fingers touching roof , bodies a wiggling mass of humanity.

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