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Clouds

I rise with the sun
house crowded with furniture
dirty dishes
unwashed laundry

pick my way between paper bags and patio chairs

forage in the fridge for food
something I can stuff in a tupperware
take to work

I haven’t cooked in weeks

dawn on Gladstone is concrete under foot
walking
toes cold
on mornings that are still
cool

cumulus mist disperses like dreams

but this grey miasma lingers
ghostly
waiting

Sun burns slowly through
her haze of halo’d clouds

wish I could do the same

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January 2012

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