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Malcolm
Poems
Mar 22
Clockwork Exile
Tick—tock, the wall blinks back,
hands circling our days like vultures.
Sunrise, sunset—another grain falls.
We count time in echoes, in light-years,
watching comets carve their nameless orbits,
wandering like satellites without a home.
Falling into the tomorrow.
We think we know
Malcolm Gladwin
Copyright March 2025
Written by
Malcolm
40/M
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