mechanical dawn
By lost child
he sits beneath a blue-white glare reading "help for the hurting" and a fat book of plays. he swallows too bitterly (a sentiment well suited for a sunrise so bland) and stirs in his sugar, asleep; while i lap up his S's and T's. i can taste when i swallow today how corroded this Peace has become.this will probably shift and grow, but whatever. Written January 29th, 2002 © on Jan 29 2002 02:20 AM PST 0 • 18 • 10
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"he sits beneath a blue-white glare..."