when happiness rots around us






elapses

so much is going,

the rust routes are

excelling




and consider archives

as their own wither




commiserate

the sky’s broken air,

so full of tears once

as we were




this world

does not allow sunshine

but roots are comfy

in their cellar deeps




sleep as opaque as

deafening dreaming,

we list into the numbness

of trying




i do not soar well these

lying days, do not comply

with taxed winter, there’s

many a bough of slumped




shoulders




tho that wing is crippled

and stars lean into dark

autumn is many of us

dealt within eyes as blows




we nudge thru’ minutes

no stride can hurry us

beyond that grey inspected

hill




where crows are often

and sorrow shrill


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