All tends to disorder
I adapt to the decaying
Squalor that surrounds me
The sun goes down,
A light bulb blows
I learn to see in the dark
The heat’s been off for weeks
The cold is intergalactic
I simply wear more clothes
My phone is cut off
I learn to talk to myself
Caressing my children
More intimately with words
As if I could protect them
from the nothing I see coming...
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