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Maybe I’ll run out
One day
Spent of words
No more
Poetry
Left in me
There’d probably be no more
Me left in me
Either
 May 2023 Décio
Harry Gione
In stillness, I read a few lines per second
to sweet relief and wisdom beckon
it's the painful habit of the poet I reckon
to let out a breath at the end of each session

— The End —