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It is Fading

A Poem

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

The colour
of the lawn, a limbo
a shade away from
a hybrid
a nasty mix, not a place
to sleep in or
look at except in the dark
the reveal
of the sunlight, bad
against the eyes here
sold visions
of the real colour to fucking drown
in to other magazines
not the clip in your
rifle kind, the kind you flap
on the lap
and you in your jaded
socks, underwear askew
you have no desires to get out
and do
anything about it



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J.D. Harms

J.D. Harms

Former hairstylist, perpetual philosophy student, swallowed by poetry, writing, ideas