Gray-Scales

Tonight limp hands: there’s
that shadow on the eye,
again, it’s looming against

the sun, too… The young are
so much more forgiving
but don’t put them in front

of decaying landscapes.
The gray-scale is so lethargic,
wetness to the left, and my

self, far behind. Try bulldozing
worries, something different
than my fabricated world.

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