The Mercy Hour

The Mercy Hour

Taste tranquility at dusk.
Emotion-dust settles
and all is forgiven,
forgotten,
if only a fleeting thought,
the day’s memories
crumble-crumble
into gully-knifed street bellies,
disappear,
dissolve,
disintegrate,
reshape hopes-
those glued-together dreams
that push up
from within
gully-knifed street bellies’
pus crusts
only to be picked up at dawn
(or trampled into tarmac cracks)
by the soles of shoes.

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