QED

poesy

The Censors are Back

My eyes are wrung this morning
and set to dry
on the nearest clothesline.
Nearby,
a dollar store worker places an
open sign on the retractable door
while dreams subdue my tiny ecosystem
which cannot be erased
like I had hoped.
Reminders prevail
and are like street stuck bubblegum
which requires brute force
to remove.

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