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Summer’d

Tired eyes awaken anyway to stare

through coffee steam  Blended lines

turned by the sun overlap as if stickers on an edgy club wall

 

Torn stubs fall

from an overbooked calendar pausing

to be glanced at like posters once stapled to a pole

 

Sore feet crush grass burnt brown and bleached

in time

 

Fresh wrinkles appear like scars

on a machine built for speed— traded for a moment

 

Photos pile

waiting to be reflected on and laced into history

 

Energy spent, bartered and consumed

in the season of the sun  Leave one Summer’d

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