Dance of Minions
Window dressings pasted tightly
moisture frames their presence
barely lit by cigarettes passing
outside in while I sit watching
the random dance of minions
scattered strains of sound
music plays somewhere, I can’t....
...my head longs for sleep now,
childlike, fevered presence roars
cool hands wipe away fear
alone with myself only lonely
I don’t feel well...scattered
causal thoughts shrug across
my addled brain. I am always alone.
Copyright © Cynthia Cross | Year Posted 2019
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