Day breaks.
You’re stiff; half dead – waiting to go left,
I go right.
A tyrant awaits the luster you manifest–
From lists, steadily churned from a mind
Dipped in ego with a dash of insanity.
Morning in.
Morning out.
The sweat upon your brow,
Pools like pity in the basin you wash
The deeds of their separate lives.
My fate leans on the beckoning calls of privileged
Pukes.
Who one by one squeeze blood from a turnip,
And at a fervent pace.
Finally, the respite I find in the blueness – calm,
Framed in golden strands
Awaits.
Folding me into myself,
The dominoes tip,
Allowing reflections to spring forward;
Tepid, soft, reliable;
Reaching into the light.
Find me there once more,
Like the time not knowing wrong from right,
Palms to the stars –
Ready to receive the force of nature
That envelops us.
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