Have the freckled lights of this squat land driven you to something greater?
The rivers have resisted convergence for you.
Have the papers, squirming under your emasculated palms, been concealing my name?
The days have been good to you.
Have the angry hours begun to rope your eyes away from each other?
There is a demon under my bed waiting for you.
How long will you continue to tickle this clock, to excite it forward into time?
How long will he have to wait?
Good writing. Very immediate and interesting images and language choices. Bravo!
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