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The storm prattles on, turning my insides

out. Turning time, each day rages forth,

unremarkable. I make remarks, avert my eyes,

avoid disaster. Wind through my self-made world.

Reeds and salty winds and creaking pine.

The backdrop I want is the one I preserve.

A windiness forever inside of me, aching out.

Rehearse the habits, take up the mantle

you’ve chosen, keep the hours from now

to a better you. A bird slices horizons

in half, black wing brushing against

all the unseeable that’s there. Awake

to witness the moment dawn bears sound,

mournful calling always through the mist.

Nothing common about it. Dark strokes,

the way a group of lines make shape, how being caught

in your sight divides my time, marks my days.

Posted 01/08/19
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