the window is
coated in dust
and the light
flitering through
seems to be aged
lending a gravitas
to the miserable
day’s proceedings

lying still
as internally
wars are waged
my skull is
the beaches
as d day soldiers
storm my battered
unbattened hatches
wheezing mustard gas
nocturnes in
three quarter time

filtered over
by these wispy
rays of prematurely
aged lights
desperate to focus
on anything but
the concussive blasts
from chest to head
an arbitrary corpse
an atoll steaming
a concentration cramp
seizing thoughts
ground to glitter
drowning in place
in this over shaken
snowglobe of despondency


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