as I settle back into myself there
are no ripples to disturb, the hardness
of absence has nothing to do with me,
I lack even that. the gray deformity
of disappointment settles into static
layering into the stratigraphy with
all the empty yellowed dawns,
memories wilted in situ.
the listless spiral of fingertips
half drunk in the lack of atmosphere,
oxygen wasted to keep cigarettes lit.
this is all
.
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