Must I still exist?
Late nights
like blinking lids, inflating lungs,
or solitary heart claps;
routined to sleep.
Troubled days wane tired
as mornings never live.
Afternoons are fallen on, as eyes rise.
Motions drag through streets
as the sun splinters.
Tinking twilight
clatters along like a pal
tracking from decision to decision
asking, “what matters?”
Why else move but love?
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