Rolling out of thisself

My cups are rolling
devoid of a soaking
as the sands of a far away place

My eyes are windblown
they hold dried out
Somewhere- someplace
I scatter about mistouched

My fingers suffer a pressing
buttons flicker as darts to rounded wood
This wound leaks. buckets drip drops to the universe

Unarmed. my hair curls to a face
This beat is untimed. Their lips snarl
I am coming undone.

________
Good Morning Dear June

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