Late summer storm

Insistent sun

bleaching hope

into fossils and fables,

our balled-up thunder

rolls over tender valleys

and we stop trying

to see the ideal

in someone else;

light crackles static

all over the floor

up through fingers

pushing everyone away –

you’re better off

without my crazy times

though I’ll miss the embraces

for what they were: grounding

and entirely made-up.


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