good morning


the low rising sun casts its copper light

on the building across the window

and every move leads to an emptiness


a lifetime of living

titivates under the skin like a fly

but nothing gets accomplished


nothing gets done

nothing happens but a daily paralysis

watching the sky fall and you're unable to run


morning and the day's wasted already

and to cling to life is to have

absolutely nothing to say


and talking talking talking incessantly anyway




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