Poem a day, Day #27

A warehouse turned sideways.

Trampoline and dust.

Too many cars on the highways.

A mind gone bust.

Thinking entropic, disordered, but new.

The vibrating skull's hum.

Brow glistening with dew.

Repose; and what dreams may come?

Eyes clear, and the house still stands.

Everything's fine.

No blood on his hands.

Finish with wine.

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