Monday, September 29, 2014

SUN DRUGS

It seems—by this 
wornout green-
by-burnt-

umber fringe of 
late September—that everything 
must be more 

than a little 
bit tired—or 

else, such slack 
agglomerations as these—

mums and petunias; that brazen
short skirt 
and long oatmeal sweater; 

or even—the whole hazy
conceit of those
two separate 

seasons altogether—simply
wouldn't be able 
to keep themselves 

propped-
up so flimsily—simply by 

leaning dispassionately
back on each other.

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