January 11, 2011

stretch on as
the halls of a mortuary
leaving guests
and grief to
wander in to infinity

but the nights,
they seem to burn like
paper on a candle
or a devil
in the sun,
sleep and solace lost
among the cold, unruffled

one day
I hope to have a night
and, after
easing my days
from the stretching,
I’ll take my night
and call it one

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