I am sitting on the edge of the mattress.
The sheets are white as a hospital bed.
The window takes me to transparent dark.
The computer’s at its place on the table, like an unused plate.
In this city, there are words, like bees,
Travelling from mouth to mouth and
Worlds continually fade, like bruised lips.
Outside, the men have started a fire.
I will be silent and listen for winter.
It will come so that everything becomes the same.
It will cover every shadow with nothing.

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