The moon
threaded mosey that I claimed as my own,
Is only the unclaimed
slumber stolen from being alone,
My sleeping having
drifted from my so many counting’s,
As sandman taunts
my heavy lids with his cruel floutings.
Clouds scudding
behind closed heavy lidded window panes,
Decreasing worldly
ado behind reduced life´s banal frames,
Imminent death
skidding close in imagined sorry schemes,
Dissipating with
dawn, down the drain in the dregs of dreams.
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