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The Overnight Anticipation of Morning's Arrival
Not an ape and not a man
Not a rodent yet still a shrew
Books of faded pictures children drew
Collecting dust here once again
Lights burned out, must replace the bulbs
Possessions scattered as garment thoughts
Circulating speech
Rotational esteem
Laying in a gurney bed
Rolling up and down
A half-pipe made of lead
Never getting much for air
I'm beside myself with love
Drowning in it, to save my other self
It's become too much, pungently ubiquitous
Seconds stretch on and on
The morning comes with peace
The balance of pain and relief
Tender tickles of the distant sun
Nips and barks of nearby cold
I've climbed once before,
And now it seems I must again
But gravity is powerful
And I'm but still a young-come man
Challenge stress and grief
Are almost always overcome
But like hounds they come in packs
I feel there's no shame, in fearing their attacks
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