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How bright
my sun shines down
all day

Sustained and savage
with glee
of sun tomorrow

but when evening comes
The shadows grow horns
and the darkness gasps,

and haints
come in like
they own the place

Licking their chops
over my
sleeping head
It came as a shock
But not a surprise

That ugly news
And they weren't
even sure
It was accidental

I mean,
Our story had  
Been writ

And put on the shelf
A long time before

Vows to others,
That kind of thing

But it was
A good story
All the same

I’m glad we wrote it
But I wish

I could revise
The ending
It’s no field of daisies
This walk up those stairs
Sad banners flapping
This garden of dreams

I can see those assembled
Exchange their quick glances
As the band dies down
And the snickers fade out

They all know what’s coming
They’ve gathered to see
A neck yanked at noon

And this time it’s me
Look in my window
That’s me in there

With my spine
curled again
over this page

I started a novel,
But ran out of breath

I beat it and cursed it
but finally admitted

I’m a sprinter
(if that)
not a marathon

So maybe
Just a verse
or two

Because better
a dash
for hearts
or souls

Than a mile
for a
plastic grail
Sheep in the hallway
Coy in the sink

Couldn’t risk sleeping
Not even a wink

Guppies came
and guppies went
in bobbling bubbles
of discontent

This is the stuff
poetry is made of

When your poetic
*** falls off
I ruptured myself
like a schmuck
On a movie
Last night

A vapid,
schmaltzy flick
With dashing
Hugh Grant

And Emma Thompson,
Who was crying
From a kind of
Slept-in sadness

That I wanted
To rescue
her from

But I'm sure I
wouldn't get
The accent right

the script was
already writ
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