almost

concept

I’m tired of the world
Listening almost analytical,
Blinking and blinking,
Yawning.

And telling stories.

I want to turn off the world,
like a light bulb.

I want darkness to be orthodox.
Like a blanket I
fold into heretic squares of vision.

I’m tired and about
to doubt.

And the sun
Is a big smile
I cannot fuck

I want to smile.

But the dumb
lung is coughing
the truth
away in dirty
streams of saliva.

Fences were beautiful
concepts of once.

Only one time.

To be, shortly.

I almost cried.

Contemporary Poetry

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