Around the knockdown quiet
of day's done and broken
umbrella ribs, like post
game stadium silence, empty
cups scattered around about,
homeless. A little boy learns
to sleep. A crows settles for rust.
A little rain learns to fall.
All the engines pull up
their covers. Tonight comes
close to unradiance, passes
through itself like the ghosts,
the many ghosts I've dizzied
my days on, and you
go on, a little drum learning
to beat the blues, and I
can't stop marching to it.
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