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Dingy Mode

Damp bed in the sky, mourning doves are weeping for the half-awake are fully sleeping. Clouds sink, misty-eyed they trace their own puddles. A once barking dog falls silent forever. The walker is a boogie-woogie man his hips rattle like harpsichords' and why should they not? Question Marks are necessary too often he thought, as he made his way out of a thicket of stale pajamas.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2023




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