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Another what the hell was he thinkin’ post.

Stanza Staple

This half-past 4 P.M. Golden Hour is fright light January dour
And determined to smuggle via venetian to blind side any conscious switch to home office back lighting
Hazing that main monitor in dishwater
And it’s dark mode twin in furtive fog
Bog down
Write on

Stanza Refrain

I’m wired
To say
Let there be light
And show nuff
It’s a show nuff show off
And sure thing Sound synced
RGBIC sets me free for
All of thirty seconds
Or Oh
So Sad

Stanza Trips

This last grasp of time staring, this raspy ritual on repeat, replete
with a kick drum countdown of letdown and lost years and the present
tense fears of a royal we final hours.

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