Grave bellows the whimper
From that desperate piece of solitude
Now encroached, severed from the switching
Lines of the hands from clocks, and their fated,
Soiled tic-tocs. Save for the room,
The space shall not be missed,
Neither will the floorboards
Nor the spaces hence forth kicked.
The doors hang sad upon all the hinges
As the new forest rearranges
Upon the backs of the folded, scuffed, and nicked.
We lapsed into laugher mocking it all…
Mock it again?
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