some bucks a day have come
and lured, then collared me away
from native greenery and peace
i miss color
my drab environs are confusing and new
lines drawn thickly around me, ink still wet
like fitzgerald said, the dew's
still on her
i must cut away from what looks sharp
or stark, with the light atop the dark;
these ribs won't keep this heart at bay
much longer.
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