Poem: SICK DAY

A little poem to commiserate the post-Sundance illness. 

SICK DAY

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They forgot to load the sky
Flat void, fatigued with itself

Prone flesh in mediocre light
Soft rebellion of fickle tissue
Atrophy in frames per second
Insignificant death – just needs fresh air

Yet hard to believe
In a functioning world,
Blank sky and useless limbs
Support the theory: perhaps the world
Was just last night’s dream
And I’ve always lain here
Inside fruitless pain – pity
Eternal

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