too dada to die the humming dregs of sleep
banter of youth cough medicine
itchy sheets dirt breaking the sheets and skitter
of dream adolation
adds one more recollection each year
thoughts well they seem to pass willingly or at least together
in a discernible word rhythming
the shifting sands
the blank-white hands of restlessness
numb ordinants run reels of opposing black skirmishes underneath the eyes
call it what you like
the hum sounds unreal
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