4/17/2017

Dry Wit

The air is cruel,
Dry and unfeeling,
Something more
Than a barren field.
More,
Than a disorder.
We sow and reap,
And sow and reap,
All day through.
Brick by brick
Of a stable future.
And the day ends
The cement sinks.
The sun trickles,
Down to the last
Edge of life.
Never gives up.
And here I wait,
Wondering
If I could take a bite
Off the sky.

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