A daze of melancholic days

I know these melancholy mornings wellyet they don’t even know themselvesfrom afternoons or eveningsTheir presence is distinguishedby a lackof distinguishing features,They are faceless, anaemiceyes white with meaningless lieslike the weather is ‘fine’(it isn’t ,and neither are they) –Those days sigh,and their sympathies lie with a book whose pages were never turned,lostbeside dregs of leftover dreamsand a […]

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Days of flat-lining

I checked the pulse of this day and listened at its fragile wrist for vital signs and I heard rain within the heart of it the muted silence sounds like Sunday in flat-lining disarray with no writing left upon my palm and nothing left to say …. Photograph: Gabriel Isak

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