cleaned the inside
of the windshield
an act
six months ago
i could not force
my broken shoulders
to perform
didnt realize
just how clouded
ny vision had been
until it was
no longer refracted
through the residue
of resinous sorrow
that seemed
to linger over
now i squint
into the morning’s
no longer
amorphous haze
of disenchanted remorse
there is a lesson there
but i feel blinded
by the potential
of an unclouded day
to ponder it


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