Things at Sunset
Things getting smaller at sunset—
But
what are things?
It always happens that way. Things
are objects that don’t have names.
My face is dripping Things
are real.
It’s a sad time.
Life
is real, sometimes.
This time. It’s
enough to make you cry.
And
smash things.
But why?
To
have pieces to pick up . . . Oh,
any number of reasons.
You go haywire. Nothing
matters when you’re mad.
At things. At
sunset.
Previously unpublished.
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