The sun is a story that never gets old.

Lightning strobe, Walled in clouds,

tucked away above the horizon,

Erupts without sound.


Seawater laps behind me,

Crickets grind, —

Cold sweat imprints my back.


The telephone rings,

The entire block is stretched.

I run to hear three numbers.


Phantom words.

And I purge my dues.

World inside me trying.


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