At 3am

When sanity
has passed
then I am
compromised again
even with
pleading
I cannot
touch my
my essential
self

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Poison Ivy

Nothing to do now but wander
where the poison ivy grows asunder,
lends itself to the night air-
spitting green feathers
sharpens like scissors with incredible care.
They have gained momentum or died or turned away
stiff in their makeshift coffins
pale from coughing,
treading their misery behind them
beneath another day.