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I Run, Sometimes, at Night

Scuffed shoes, light as smoke on dirty feet.
Alone with my reflections
And the moon

And the thump, thwap, scrape
Of soles on ground up asphalt.

Nothing to see, here in drifting heat
Just lips worn of expression,
Chapped, gasping,

Silent, as scuffed shoes
Grind frantic breath to asphalt

Nothing to hear, as stars sigh to their seats
But cries of stopped confessions

Of fear,


Of tears,



Safely extinguished.
Ashes layer, soft as breath, on ancient asphalt.

Behind me the cool, soft arms of silence take
And hide the stains. Nothing,

Not words


Or stars



Or song
Will find tonight’s grim smoke
Ground into the asphalt.




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