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25 February 2009 @ 06:58 pm
an experiment in syllabics and rhyming. (78 words)  
A Hushing

A hushing closes
on AM, compressing time,
pressing on moments

when the lights go ‘pff’
and float away, rise into
night—expanding out—

banding this room in
hazy glows—periwinkle
where the spectrums blur.

Graceless morning grows
in hours I haven’t met, yet,
their noses pressing close

(thinking of windows,
the ways they keep the future
just outside the pane).

Here, though, in this hour
between the evening gone and
morning rising soon

these bloating moments
burst and leak the lights toward day
and drop away, quiet.

©2009
Concrit more than welcome.
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