burnt-out ends of days

i would write

but i don’t have the time

sing me a song —

i’ve forgotten how to rhyme

lend me a hand

or take away mine

step on my feet

if i dance out of line

— — —

conclusion: as cheerleader puts it, i should probably “stop saying words,” because it’s probably past my bedtime.

oh, but i don’t have a bedtime! (truthful, but not wise.)

this is what happens when i stay up too late — i go ahead and write the half-ends of poetry running around in my head without developing them into something decent first. oh well. file that attempt away for now and we’ll see if we can revive it later.


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