Creep

A book falls off in fantasy, a cup collides in flight.
We are captured by the solitude of gulls.
Aged wood falls in upon our houses, bleeding seams.
We are crushed by the weight of ancient air.
It is hopeless. Splashed paint creates a wake
upon the walls of the heart. Listless nights seep
through illusions’s blotter, fade into the gaze of stars.
We should die penniless, accosted by fools.
And the cars creep.

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I'm a writer living in Massachusetts.