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Descent

clocks mock
hollow grins
that wait for
damp hands
to clutch the

hours when
they will
disappear
along the
quiet boughs
of oblivion.

pleasant company
rotted stale;
mauled spirit liquified,
drain the dreams
that drip softly
slowly sickly
spilled,
destined

to be held
by the folds
of a festering rag,
destined only for
the wet bowels
of garbage cans.

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