I see the rising east, sweet history; to seek the origin of dreaming
Your eyes rest west; to that of opportunity, and of the dear setting setting sun
West, where Mojo Rising wrote to live,
East, where he died aspiring to better days.
Both, a balance, more potent than any drug.
We, stuck in this middle and ready to run
Ready to jump and play,
To sleep and stay,
or write such simple poetry.
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