sparrows chirp, flies fly

there are days
when not enough shadow falls
from the shoulders of trees
and there’s nowhere you can hide
from your thoughts.
the taste of coffee, no matter
how strong,
how sweet,
is only black,
and seconds crash along its backbone –
the wind carries the scent of drought
as if it were a parasite,
and the exfoliating thoughts smell the same,
like an ever-growing desert,
like the mother of all the dunes of wasted time.
the spider dressing the thuja in an unorthodox bride gown
only cares about its stomach. the thoughts dressing my mornings
in silence only care about oblivion.
sparrows chirp, flies fly.
and beyond the blue
there’s still a slice of ether that
will ever remain
unexplored.

© Liliana Negoi

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