Again he folds the day:

‘It’s done, tomorrow again’

Early, really early morning he opened the drawer

He pinched the sun, fanned it

“Its not hot at the roadside curb like this”

and his uniform – full of paint and rust –

to the clock he shares order: keep moving

Do not lie

Fire, just up the head

Whats more to be feared of?

The path is just still

but the wind never stops ripple

and dreams in the afternoon, on the roadside

healed all the wounds

freeze the blood the thorns invite since morning

Dusk, the king was about to resign:

you’re the winner, I’m waiting for you tomorrow

“Pick me up, I have never been tired!”


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