January 2

comments 2
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On one of the last
undecided days,

it was a comfort
to wake

from strange dreams,
derived from

the keeping of odd hours–
not mine to have.

The sky is dead dull,
won’t even play

at being day,
this empty house

exhales stale heat
and this beige

curtain oscillates
a bit,

this houseplant
unfurls a new

burnished leaf–
Still life,

still life.

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