Imbibe, and
then the clock chimes a warning we all
ignore, though the owl’s head does
a hearty spin.
We’re in Graceland and our
hands are tied
with cable that hums a binary tune.
There’s a race to the end
when the dew crisps to frost;
my ribcage is my body armour.
Memories poured down the
drain with soft bubbles gather on the
moss-covered tiles outside;
gather them up before they soak
into the
crumbling ground.
A trillion souls have done all of this before
yet this sun warms my skin and
highlights my deficiencies.
Maybe one day that
will make some
profound kind of sense.



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