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#094: almost finished

when the finish line is so close

mind becomes five day old flowers

ready to return to the soil from which it came

dehydrated petals, a few still vying for life

through their might they try

others leaning languid in cloudy vase water

daring the observer to drink

or call it quits- the dirt is calling them home

but how will I, after this show-play

how and where will I return?

#093: ’til aurora

whether by chance or the sun

really had used it’s last call to dial her body

from it’s after-dinner nap

her just-awoken eyes caught

the evening sun being strong-armed away

by the heavies:

sun-buster 1 and 2

dressed head to toe in puffy grey suits

“don’t worry love, go back to bed”

their frail attempt met with only contempt

as her pupils remained fixed, keeping witness

as the veil between her and her star grew in thickness

“I’ll be out tomorrow, I promise”

the sun shot its orangepurples through the fog

“til aurora” she replied

and then came the night.