Transience

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I went on through the streets
the thick stars eroding my vision;
I felt a new kind of heaviness in them
bursting with the accumulation of unrecorded life
of tightlipped cashiers on the graveyard shift stuck in a different realm of time
of empty conversations between people who work too much and sleep too little
of haggards stationed in the corners of crowded subway stations, puffing cigarettes
(into space)
I see their eyes, lips, fingers
no one;
the musky sky
the endless concrete
the trees that wear their fall leaves like jewels
until the wind blows them naked and shameful;
the air shifts
and rain pours over the asphalt.

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4 responses to “Transience

  1. Pingback: I Don’t Believe in Forever | On the Verge of Existing·

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