Tuesday, 12 July 2011


In the morning,
all of the flooding thoughts
that beat down on me
and sweat out of my pours,
will be as distant as some
blearily viewed love, across a table.
Like light flickered out, drowned
at sunrise. A desk lamp left on, becomes obsolete,
and the thoughts that were wearily
conceived, in its gaze are forgotten,
and the broken up nights, are resented,
in the bleary middle of hard heartless day.

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