this sunset looks dismal
i should probably chase the dawn
and greet her with a wistful yawn
sleeping sounds unpleasant
ear to the ground lessens your chances of ambushed glances
from passersby dances
let me ask this:
how many times will the river bend before you're washed ashore?
icicles make grave diggers when the water takes your legs
hurry now the shallowness is sinking your days
may day parades and macabres are better watched from the stage
all saints had to die and all sinners search the sky
it's nothing if not a waste
i've been here before;
this path,
this door,
this place is no more
but the remanence of a shore
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