Friday, February 18


Either I meant to come here or I just forgot
The rot of ages set into the corners
Numb from cold, silent from fear

Turning, around and torn from bacteria
Breath in my lungs, fast and cold
Simple movements through a dense cloud

In the landscape, lights up above
The array casts long trails, jagged about me
A thick line of scrub and the sound of voices

not voices but cars surround me
pulled back from the edge again
and nobody will know.


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