The apples are on the corner of spoiled

softening to a spring step pulpy,

Bread bag is open

(You forgot to close it)

and the bread a nursery green.

 

I found the tea,

made a cup

and settled to the

truths.

 

All these things ends

like a biblical phrase,

straight from the lines.

 

I haven’t grown up.

I’m cold now after tea,

and curl up like the moon

on the sofa.

 

7 Oct 08

dlb

Thinking of Night

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