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as i scratch away last night’s mendacity from my blinking eyes, my swollen hands search for the yellowing, tattered ribbons i use to gather the curtains open.

this morning’s light’s an old country quilt’s worth of comfort.

i lose myself counting the newly lit branches vaguely wondering if he would call or start that cult he was considering. loneliness’ noose dips away from my aching trachea as the sun guards me.

i hate her less as she shines through my neglected front window onto my aqua writing desk cluttered with empty water glasses and crumpled losing lotto tickets and last year’s christmas plastic.

i notice her with a tight lipped smile.

i know not to say hello. spoken greetings to energetic nothingness is madness.

today, i wish away my garnet insanity and move to a frosted lemonade’s sweet and sour sticky stillness.

good morning.

Veronica Haunani Fitzhugh

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