The First Four Seconds

November 22, 2007
By
The First Four Seconds
are just peachy
I inhale,
The dust scattered in the pale sunlight
shimmers like a cocktail dress,
Dreams like smoke
curl and linger,
a haze of aspiration and conspiracy.
Like sand hides a footprint,
the groove in my pillow disappears.
I exhale
and feel uncertain again.
Good morning.





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