Another Fallen Fall Day
P.H. Madore
On a tide of success
cigarettes burn quicker
& time slips more rapid &
When it’s known that the
dead sleep their centuries away,
you won’t bother to at all &
So you greet the hazy
daybreak with gas station coffee
filtered corporate cigarettes &
With a fuller stomach
to tote the world on
& memories to snack on
You work a marathon on
your next near-magnum opus
during the last candle-lit hours
Before you’ll fight this,
another fallen fall day
wherein you draft postcards in loving wit &
You’ll be willing to barter
every possession, hour, ounce of soul
you’ve got plus a fair share you’d steal
Only for one doomed embrace or
twenty-four hours lacking boundaries
with that certain beauty &
You would let them be your
last hours if it were necessary
or even a promise of such were tendered
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