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JW Parks III Oct 2011
Toes become wet from dew soaked shoes,
fog engulfs the park with a moldy like fuzz.
I take repose on a dank, weary bench,
The cool fore day fog
drizzling on my inflamed cheeks.
My hands and face coated,
with the warmth of blood.
Images of the night before,
appear in my mind, like clouds in the sky,
only to dissipate within the wide-
open expanses of my thoughts.
I shan't ruin a beautifully disconcerting
morning-like this.
I must get home.

— The End —