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Mornings Underground


Strangers

Standing close

Going home

Going out

Time for work

Time to shine


One piece of cotton floss

Makes a simple constellation.

A limp bow to carry

the weight of decency.


You could

pluck the string;

Never notice

the danger,

I would shift my step

distressed,

watching my dress

fall at your feet.


You're excited;

but I'm running late this morning.

The doors are closing.

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