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Blue pedal flowers
on brown autumn trees
fluently dropping
the life it grew to hold
for two seasons in
little consistent
piles,
noticing the clouds
invading the sky
like marching
machines
promising storms
that would strip
the pedals and
the flowers
from the tree
anyway.

I
wonder how
many people
felt like those trees,
choosing
to destroy themselves
before the ever approaching
party of sleep
comes to the
doorstep.