Thursday, September 6, 2012

Poems and Prose #4: Off

The starter's pistol
  shot,
I roll myself
  off the cot,
Quickly melting dreams
  reminding me
of the time
  I haven't got.

I spy a lonely,
  unkempt spot
on the rug,
  and there I trot.
A concluding string
  of actions
given to me,
  that I'd not bought.

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