with the old decades shown in the rain
burdening me with a dampness
remorse in it’s wanting has,
flesh colored dreams
drawn tight into deep constriction
the next day would be more relevant,
sipping a coffee cold at the edges
no plate on the mat
hunger not the issue here,
wet clothes painful to the bone
unnoticed by a vapor soul,
scented thoughts
as my mind peeled
drawn into segments pithy and secretive,
pieces i could look at
and not venture a taste
any sweetness gone
acrid juice spilling over lingering images
this fight so ancient
could break me down at the yoke
leaving a harvested husk
and no resonance,
only to be lifted skywards
coffee grew cold
mat still empty

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