“Blue. My eyes. I mean…”

Blue. My eyes. I mean, sometimes. Not like those you
radiate out from behind. Cobalt estate
overlooking a lake. Huddled behind a book

on the porch of a wind torn day. Dawn
rises, and for a wink I find my
slate factory blues blind, squinting straight,
dry, climbing cliffs to the sky.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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