Invisible Fence
Whatever the reason, I'm out to pasture,
the beached sky above, I near bovine
pleasure as the street stretches to a close.
Spluttering bot lurches open, I tumble
guilt-a-whirl down my street and make
violent small talk with caricatures until
the dampness of the filter makes me gag.
Lake water laps everything here. I sigh,
gothic melancholy wholly unintended.
Why
am I
so tired?
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