End of the year gray. Anchors

Where balloons should be, or:

Could peace wait on the outer

Bank of sane. How in the holiday

Buzz to say nothing for clear, that is:

Give me back remembering,

Its attendant costumed sting.

The portraiture made overkill

By rain. No incoming. The quantum

State the same. The slide to black,

The self-quilled quell to love

The heartburn sun, its citrus sky.

If only.

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