There is no relief when regarding

the loss of time.

Festivals pass without notice like

nameless night trains.

The moon offers no concern

for words and unkempt phrases.

Seasons are unacquainted

with your sorrow or joy,

or the bruises received.

Whispers and half closed eyes

remain suspicious in the

deepening fray of night when your

pillow absorbs disappointments

and the sheets suffer indifference.


The day is yawning. Find the coffee

and open the door.



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