morning stanzas
the scarification of restless sleep
and a morning spent surveying
new wounds, all the same shape
and color, vivid pink highlighted
in returning sunlight, and blue
houses blooming against red bricks.
the moments of contrast, reflection,
a fresh day's coat of paint before
fading with the encroaching dusk
and a sickle moon seeks to make
its new cuts--
an endurable, terrible cycle.
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