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Five o'clock Shadow
Orange bleeds yellow above
the white tipped horizon
My fingers are crying,
for the days
of never ending bath-tubs.
Soon-
winter will carve
it’s 5 o’clock shadow
across the east coast.
and smoke will rise
from brick chimneys.
On sunny afternoons,
Guilt may find it’s way
to dig it’s heel.
But here-
the cold is biting my toes,
and my mind is free
to listen to the dogs wrestling.
Playing, like fiddler for a hot meal.
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