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.
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