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Churlish Dawn

Listless, like a churlish dawn
over the overcast vineyard, at the plucking
the eyes don’t see the foggy distance
the mind cannot fathom stillness
before the vengeful storm
hallucinations of walking on a thin wire
when the world looks like a haze of black and white and grey
through the translucent lenses of
a stoned photographer
the boredom converts into
a dark spiral of disdain and decadence
nothing, not even a favorite movie
does the trick
what does it all mean?
which spicy corner of the city shall I tread
or discover
to get the purge of emotions
of laughter, of gratification?
sleepy eyes yet no sleep
the fog disappears from the windowsill
and transcends into a gloomy space
the mind craves stillness of the chatter
and a tranquility of sunshine
in this clutter of hopelessness

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