Too lonely to make sense

Too lonely to see the daze

Before me as I rise

To the occasion

Without stopping the vision

Being declared equal

To the remnant of

Insomniacal sleep

Disorders from food

I have not eaten.

I sit alone as pennies

Fall from my pocket

Onto the street sided with

Palm debris from the last storm.

It doesn’t last,  this feeling of

Over much and mildewed sombre.

It makes a laughter seem like

Greenbacks floating in the breeze.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2019

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