Dawn pries apart my blinds,
gaps of roan and blue
Footsteps sigh,
Gulls call softly
on a current
In my downy loft,
I tally what I’ve lost -
the tattoed man
who didn’t smile,
the last mile
I’ve never ran.
The sharp fingers pull me from the infinite stillness to -
snapping metal teeth on paper,
sandwiches, made a day later
- where everything is paced and measured.
Year:
2018
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