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September Trance

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We ask questions with no answers.
Scribble symbols; these squiggly etches; empty.
We float and buzz as the air in September
longing to settle yet suspended in fog.
We wonder why skies leave us
laughing like lunatics,
tick tick ticking, stuttering clocks
clutter cinderblock walls.
Vapid faces, trading places
running races with breeze.





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