How many hours have I been
outside this summer? Not
many. I am separated from the
yellow light shifting,
wave-like, across green foliage,
and bright grass, moist from dew,
by these prison walls of my own
actions, built by my own bumbling
hands with stubborn
and fatal inadequacy. In
this foul-aired darkness I
am buried until red and brown
and pale yellow fall the leaves.
11.08.2020
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