all souls, 1902

the dirty Thames. the

dirty brown fog. i lie

upon my bed hands

behind my head. walk

the boards watch the

boats roll by. i’m

 

open to the voices

on the street, wheels,

the clatter that makes me

glad to be, alone. my

bones, only, weigh me

down, my existential

leanings. doctor,

 

12/12/17

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