My nights have gotten shorter
with morning fulling up from the day before
and my mind it is pulled by the half shadow I lost last fall.
I've got no one to blame but myself and these songs,
because they do nothing but help me focus in on my sadness.
When I can't sleep I get filled with them.
My blood flows heavy into my ballon arms—leaves quickly—
and rushes back into my head, but I still find joy in windows.
Inside it's somebody's birthday, a profile view of a smiling face,
but for me it has been such an air conditioned summer,
an empty beach with garbage cans for the birds to sift through.
I can not bring her into all this, it has become more than her
so I linger on in this transitional valley.
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